The Freedom Phantom
by Rainbow Volcano
Summary: Detective Arthur Kirkland of the New York Police Department has been chasing a particularly frustrating thief for some time now, the self proclaimed "Freedom Phantom." After many attempts, the thief is finally reprimanded - but not before Arthur learns he may not be such a bad man after all. In fact, he is good-hearted and annoyingly attractive. USUK with Franada and some GerIta
1. The One that Got Away

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my first Hetalia fic! I am back from the dead, making my triumphant return! Romance, action, intrigue, betrayal! All wrapped up in one! Well, maybe that's just a _bit_ glorified.

I posted this a while ago on Google + (I know, weird right? Who uses G+?) but I was rather disappointed with the lack of response (Really? On a desolate social media site? Who'd have thought?) so I decided to post here! Planning on weekly updates every Wednesday, but we'll see how that goes ^^'

Quick disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the NYPD, or the cover photo used.

Without further ado, I present to you: The Freedom Phantom!

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The One that Got Away**

Arthur's phone rang. To anyone else, that could mean any number of things; a family member was sick or won an accolade, a promotion at work, a lover informing of their tardiness, or even a friend calling to say "Hi". But Arthur's phone only rang for one reason: a crime was being committed somewhere in New York City.

"Detective Kirkland," he stated as he answered his phone.

"Sir, we've received word that he's attempting to strike the East Bank," replied the voice on the other end. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Wait, you mean him? The bloody 'Freedom Phantom'?"

"Yes, sir."

Arthur smirked. "I'm on my way." Arthur quickly rushed to his police car and turned the key in the ignition. As he pushed his foot on the gas pedal, he couldn't fight the excitement that rose within him.

The Freedom Phantom had been striking banks around town for almost a month now. He was a very skilled thief and hacker, as he was able to avoid the NYPD on five separate occasions. Each time, he'd gotten just a bit sloppier, but he'd always managed to get away. For every single time, Arthur had been the first on the scene, and always just a bit too slow. He'd never even seen the thief. But this time was going to be different. Arthur was sure that this time would be the burglar's last, and he would be safely locked away where he belonged.

Finally, Arthur arrived at the East Bank. Pistol in hand, he quickly rushed in to the safe room in the back. He swiftly kicked down the door. He wasn't one for grand entrances, but he knew it would be the fastest way in. Besides, the sound would probably startle anyone, and hopefully, the thief as well.

"NYPD!" he yelled. He glared into the room, quickly inspecting his surroundings. Next to the safe kneeled a man wearing all black clothes and a ski mask. He jumped into a standing position, completely taken by surprise. The cops weren't supposed to show up so fast.

"Caught you, you little thief! Put your hands in the air!" The man placed his hands on his head, and slowly turned around to face the detective. He had a look of embarrassment on his face, and a hint of frustration, as well. Clearly Arthur was a better policeman than the thief anticipated.

"Howdy, Mr. Policeman! As you can see, I'm very busy here, so if you wouldn't mind putting down your gun and walking away, that would be fantastic," greeted the thief. For a man who was caught red-handed, he was acting surprisingly calm.

Arthur would have none of that.

"I don't think so." He pulled out his handcuffs and dove at the criminal. Arthur's attempt failed, however, when the thief sidestepped and drew his own gun.

"Tsk, tsk! Sorry, Mr. Policeman, but I don't intend to get caught today."

"Put down the gun! Resistance will only make your prison time longer!" Arthur shouted. This was not the first time someone resisted the police so openly, but it was the first time that anyone defied Detective Kirkland. Perhaps the criminal simply didn't know who he was. "You do realize you're defying not only the law, but also the will of Detective Kirkland?"

Freedom Phantom could've cared less who he was defying, but he needed to keep the policeman occupied while he thought of an escape plan.

"Detective Kirkland? Aren't you the one who worked for the Scotland Yard in London?"

"So what if I am? For God's sake, put down your weapon!" It was at times like this that Arthur wished he had backup. Security in numbers, as they say. He knew the thief would've been much more agreeable if he wasn't the only policeman there. Speaking of which, wasn't back up supposed to be here by now? Where the hell were they?

"Ooh! So if you worked for the Scotland Yard, does that make you a constable?" he asked, now a bit intrigued. He had noticed the policeman's thick, British accent from the moment he first spoke. But now he had a backstory: the constable turned NYPD. What was the story behind that? He simply had to find out.

"Honestly, this is rubbish. Put down your bloody gun! The more you defy the law, the longer your prison time will be."

Freedom Phantom sighed. He wasn't going to learn anything, especially not like this. He had to think of a new strategy, and focus on getting out before back up arrived. He looked at the policeman, straight into his eyes, and saw an alluring green shade. An idea suddenly came to him. Although it was a long shot, it would be extremely effective if it worked.

"I get it! You won't tell me anything until I tell you something! How's about we start with introductions?"

Arthur stared at him in utter confusion. What was this guy thinking?

"Okay, then. I'll go first. Name's Alfred. Favorite food: Hamburgers. Hobbies include guns, blowing stuff up, and baseball. Your turn, Constable!"

Arthur then realized that this was a great way to keep the criminal talking. For a moment, he contemplated making up information to tell the thief, but then realized he would be in custody soon enough, so it wouldn't matter.

"I'm Detective Kirkland of the NYPD. Scones would be my favorite food, and my hobbies are cooking and locking up criminals like you."

"Criminal!?" he exclaimed in mock surprise, "That's harsh! You're supposed to be nice to people you just meet! You're not very good at this, are you?" he teased.

"I'm sick of all your rubbish! The rest of my squadron will be here any minute, and your future is looking none the brighter!" Alfred realized that he was absolutely right. Backup was coming soon, and he needed to get out while there was only one obstacle. Remembering his plan, he stared into the policeman's eyes once again. He looked for a long time, realizing that he almost got sucked right in. Time to test his theory, and hopefully make an escape.

"You know, Constable, you have very beautiful eyes." Arthur's eyes widened in shock as a light blush spread across his face. He quickly narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his pistol, but the thief saw all that he needed to know how to escape.

"It's hard to find men like you, Constable. Men with a good head on their shoulders, but also incredibly handsome," He smiled a big grin and winked.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat as his face turned a dark shade of red. This thief was annoying before, but now he was _really_ getting under Arthur's skin.

"Th-that's enough out of you! One more word and I'll-" Arthur was interrupted by the thief stepping forward, right in front of him. Close enough that if either so much as leaned inward, they could have been kissing.

"Or you'll _what_ , Mr. Constable?" he asked, breath reaching Arthur's ears with a shiver down his spine. A coy smile appeared on Freedom Phantom's face, while an even deeper blush appeared on Arthur's. In all his years of crime fighting, he'd never once been in a situation where he couldn't find his words. Until now. He stared at the thief, whose face was hidden behind a ski mask. But he could see stunning blue eyes, blue eyes that twinkled with playfulness and excitement. For a moment, Arthur stood there staring at those blue eyes, completely entranced.

Eventually, however, the moment ended. "Sadly, it's time for me to escape. See you later!" The thief turned on his heels and dashed out through the door that Arthur had previously busted down. Before Arthur even had a chance to react, he was gone.

He realized some time afterwards that the thief didn't even take any money, and that he'd been _so close_ to catching him. So close, in fact, they had almost…

Arthur mentally slapped himself. Whoever this burglar was, and whatever stupid name he decided to call himself, it did not change the fact that he was a criminal. Arthur sighed. He had almost caught the fiend. Now instead of five successful escapes, the thief had six.

As Arthur left the bank, he saw what caused his back up the long delay. A hideous, red, white, and blue car had crashed in the middle of the intersection, causing all traffic both ways to effectively halt. As he scanned the area, he saw two police members from his division: Eliza Hedervary and Roderich Edelstein. A fiery Hungarian girl, and a classy Austrian, respectively.

"Herdervary. Edelstein. What's going on here?" He asked, approaching the catastrophe. They both turned around, with puzzlement on their faces.

"It's so strange," Eliza said "We've inspected the whole car, but can't find anything wrong."

"It's almost as if… this accident was staged," Roderich speculated while jotting notes in his notebook. Someone would have to write their police report, and Eliza certainly wasn't going to do it.

"Staged? But why?" asked Arthur. If this "accident" hadn't happened, Arthur could've caught the thief. That irritating, alluring thief. The one who was supposed to be in custody by now, but was instead probably off planning his next attack.

"We're not certain, but Eliza and I plan to look more into this," Roderich explained before he continued jotting notes.

"Hey! Who said you could decide what I do?" Eliza shouted. She didn't take well to anyone telling her what to do.

"Well, we're partners, aren't we?" Roderich asked, not looking up from his notebook. Eliza rolled her eyes, but released a small sigh of relief. Roderich said it as though it were obvious, as though doing something without your partner was obscene. It ticked Arthur off.

"I'll leave you to it. I'm heading back to the station," he scoffed, a bit more rudely than he had intended. He turned and briskly walked away.

It wasn't that he hated them. On the contrary, Eliza and Roderich were both reliable police members, and more often than not he was grateful for their assistance. But Arthur was the only policeman without a partner. That may have been his choice entirely, but it still irked him.

So far, today had been incredibly frustrating. He missed a criminal for the sixth time. Someone had purposefully caused an accident. He was reminded that he was the only cop in the NYPD without a partner. And, worst of all, the person who should've been off his mind was now invading all his thoughts. Freedom Phantom had been in the back of his mind ever since he first slipped away, but now he was everywhere. The playfulness in his eyes, the excitement – why would someone like that be committing federal crimes?

Arthur sighed. The only way to find out was to wait until he struck again. Next time, he would get answers. And maybe even a new prisoner.


	2. Le Prisonnier

Welcome to chapter 2! I was really excited by all the positive messages I received and favorites this fic made in such a short time! Thank you all so much!

Sadly this chapter is, well, sad. There's problems for everyone, especially for our flamboyant Frenchie and our quiet Canadian. But they'll all be sorted in due time. I promise this'll have a happy ending!

Small translation note: "casse-couille" means "pain in the butt." A lesser known, but still popular insult in France.

Please enjoy! (Even though there is sadness T^T)

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Le Prisonnier**

Arthur arrived back at the station, a small but tidy place at the end of a quiet street. The station was always clean and almost always smelled of tomatoes. He could thank the chief and the chef for that. Chief Ludwig Beilschmidt carried himself calmly, with a firm hand and a loud yelling voice. Chef Feliciano Vargas, on the other hand, was cheerful, carefree, and very scatterbrained. The two always kept the station interesting; sort of like a weird family he knew he could come home to.

"Arthur! You're back!" cried the cheerful chef, Italian accent dripping from his throat. Arthur rolled his eyes. Greeting returning family members was one thing, but he'd just returned from a crime scene.

"Hello, Feliciano. I trust nothing is wrong?" He knew that was a stupid question, but he asked it anyways. If something were wrong, Feliciano would've been running and screaming around the halls. Quite literally.

"Nope! Everything's okie dokie!"

"That's good. I'm going to write my report now and have it to the captain by tomorrow morning. Do tell him that, would you?" Feliciano nodded and happily skipped away. Arthur shook his head in amazement before ducking into his office.

* * *

He emerged a few hours later, with the sun already having set. He stretched out a bit before heading over to the cell wing, where all the prisoners were held. He opened the large door and saw two cells, one empty and one filled by a man with long, blonde hair. He took a few steps closer. Almost immediately afterwards, however, he regretted it.

"C'est le casse-couille! Bonjour!" called a spirited voice. Arthur cringed. Francis.

"Can it, Frog. I'm not in the mood right now." Arthur walked right by the French man's cell, hoping to avoid talking with him altogether. Something about Frenchies really rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe it was just Francis.

"Oh? Is it that old thief again? You _still_ can't catch him?" Francis taunted, causing Arthur to pause, but still with his back to the iron bars.

"For your information, wanker, I would've caught him if bloody backup had arrived sooner! I was so close! So close in fact that I- that he… that we…" his voice trailed off as he remembered the proximity between the two of them. A light blush dusted his cheeks, but luckily his back was turned, so Francis couldn't see.

"Hmm? What is this? If I didn't know you better, I would have said you're gushing like a silly school girl!" Francis teased. Arthur spun around to face him in anger. This, however, was a dreadful idea. Francis saw the redness in his face and grinned mischievously.

"Ohon hon hon! So you _do_ like him!" Arthur's blush darkened, along with his anger.

"N-No! That's just you coming up with your stupid theories! Besides, even if I did, which I certainly **don't** , I just met him today!"

"Ah, but did that stop Romeo from falling passionately in love with Juliet? And is this not how the great Sherlock Holmes met the illustrious Irene?" Francis chortled and fought the urge to poke the police officer through the bars.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, as if fighting a headache. "There are so many flaws with your logic; I can't even begin. Comparing that criminal to Juliet Capulet is hardly appropriate, and this is not how Sherlock met Irene. Besides, just because I'm British doesn't mean I'm bloody Sherlock Holmes!" Arthur started tensely playing with his fingers. He didn't want to show weakness, but he couldn't help the rapid beating of his heart.

"The similarities are uncanny, non? An eccentric Brit working with the police to catch a thief whom he finds impossibly alluring?"

Arthur scoffed, but the redness in his face was still visible.

"Won't work, idiot. Irene was attacked and threatened by burglars. This bloke _is_ the burglar."

"Come up with any excuse you like, but the fact remains that this thief has stolen your affections." Francis crossed his arms, as though there was nothing else Arthur could say that would change his mind.

"You git! You are so wrong it's almost funny!" Arthur also crossed his arms, but mostly to try and stop himself from nervously playing with his fingers.

"Is that why you blush and twiddle your fingers, Sherlock?" Arthur jumped in shock. How was Francis so good at reading people?

"I'm not blushing! And don't call me that!" Arthur cried adamantly.

"But it suits you so well!" Francis cooed. He grinned haughtily, having just won against his opponent.

"Ugh. Enough of this nonsense. I'm leaving." With that, Arthur scrambled towards the door, thoroughly embarrassed. Stupid Frog always knew how to do the exact stupidest thing possible. Why did he even come here in the first place? After this thought crossed his mind, he finally remembered.

As he was about to open the door, Arthur turned around, heart rate slowing down but still a bit red in the face.

"I almost forgot. There's a new recruit coming in. He'll be patrolling for most of the night. I've met him a few times and he's very polite, a respectable lad. You'd better not cause trouble for him."

"You'd accuse _moi_?" Francis asked innocently.

"Well, you're the most annoying person I've ever met. Besides, you _were_ locked in jail for a reason."

"I give you my word, Sherlock, I shall not cause trouble for this new police man. Good luck catching your Irene!"

Arthur scowled and left, grumbling angrily about Phantoms and Frogs. As he left, Francis broke into a bittersweet smile.

"Oh, Casse-couille. I truly do hope for the best between you and this mysterious phantom. Even if I can't stand your ugly face."

* * *

Francis always had trouble sleeping on the prison beds, and tonight was no exception. It was safe to say that right now his life was pretty infuriating. He was locked behind bars in an ugly little cell, forced to wear an outrageously tacky orange jumpsuit, and had to eat pasta every day. Well, the pasta was good, but it was nothing compared to the food he would've cooked himself.

After shifting restlessly a few more times, he sat up and imagined himself cooking. He imagined his sleeves rolled up, with his cute lacy apron wrapped tightly around his waist. He imagined holding a bowl and a whisk, and pantomimed the stirring motions in the darkness. He imagined his spice rack, and his oven, and his clean marble counter. He imagined the sunlight shining in from the window near a rack of cookbooks that he never used, since he knew all the recipes by heart. He imagined twirling as he cooked, a ballet in his own make-believe kitchen. As he did so, he hummed lightly, completely lost in his own world.

"Francis?" called a hesitant voice. Francis snapped out of his daydream and saw that there was a person there. Arthur was the only one who came into the cell room at night time, but this voice lacked a thick British accent. Who was he?

Francis blinked a few times and squinted. As his vision cleared, he saw someone both truly beautiful and truly horrifying. His little Canadian.

"Mathieu!? What-what are you doing here?" he exclaimed, baffled. Matthew, last time he saw him, was training to work in law enforcement, but didn't think he'd get very far. That must have been almost a year ago, if Francis remembered correctly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Matthew stated coldly. In his arms he held a plush polar bear, whom he had fondly named Kumajiro. As long as Francis had known him, he'd never seen the Canadian without his bear. He found a bit of comfort in this, glad to know that some things still remained the same. But Matthew's detached tone unsettled him.

"Hearing such cold words from your mouth…whatever happened to your gentle voice? The one where words would flow like maple syrup?" Francis asked, his own voice sounding detached and melancholy.

"Guess I lost it. When, you know, you betrayed me."

Francis felt those words like knives to his heart. "Oh, Mathieu, there was so much more to that case than you know."

"Yeah, well, I think I heard enough from all those newspapers and TV specials."

"If you would just let me explain, I could-"

"You could what? Dig the knife deeper? I don't know what there is to explain, Francis. We were dating, and then you went and had an affair that made national headlines. Because you raped a 15 year old girl."

"Mathieu, please! You've cut me off for almost a year now! Can't you see what the media's done? Don't you want to believe me!?" Francis cried.

Matthew hesitated a moment. The possibility that the media had warped the story was certainly likely. But he looked at his ex-boyfriend behind bars and Matthew had all the evidence he needed. Maybe the media made it seem worse, but the law kept him locked away for a reason.

"Maybe, but I can't. I can't believe you. Do you see where you're standing? We don't lock up innocent people."

"I liked my petit Canadien before he turned night sentry," muttered Francis bitterly.

"And I liked Francis before he became a rapist," Matthew replied distantly. The words cut deep, and he knew, but he didn't care. Francis stabbed him first.

"If you won't let me explain, then just…please, don't hate me," Francis pleaded, voice soaked in sorrow. He felt tears welling in his eyes, not from the harsh tones or distant attitude. He suddenly felt so lonely, as though the one thing he was holding onto was stripped away from him.

"It's a bit too late for that."

Matthew twisted around and quickly marched out the door. A part of him wanted to turn right back around and apologize for everything he said. He wanted to embrace his past lover warmly, stroke his hair and tell him everything would be all right. But another part told him to keep walking away, even if it meant someone he still truly loved would be left in tears. After all, how many nights had Matthew spent crying after he heard the news?

Francis' tears flowed freely now, but it proved in making him cold. Cold, and alone. He crawled back into his uncomfortable bed and curled into a ball, hoping to find the sweet oblivion of sleep. He no longer tossed and turned, but he shivered.

In the morning, Francis awoke to find himself covered in a warm red blanket. Confused, he sat up and attempted to inspect it. He gave up after a few seconds, having not a clue as to who could've possibly put a blanket on him while he was shivering last night. But then, Francis saw something laid carefully at the end of the bed. He shuffled and saw that it was Kumajiro, appointed to watch over Francis in his sleep. He shook his head in bewilderment, but also allowed a small, bittersweet smile on his face.


	3. The Reunion

Well, it's not even 2 weeks in and I've already missed my deadline. My apologies to everyone, and I promise next time there WILL be an update as scheduled! I'm so irresponsible...

Sorry for the late update, but please enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Reunion**

Arthur sat hunched over at his kitchen table, the bridge of his nose supported by his fingertips. It was early in the morning, around 6:30 if he'd bothered to look over at his clock. He had gone home at a decent time last night, and even went to bed at a decent time, as well. But no matter what he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about the slippery thief, whom Francis had so affectionately named Irene.

After long hours of tossing and turning, he had finally given up and moved to his kitchen. He then brewed a pot of tea and sat at the table, attempting to sort out the mess in his mind. Luckily for him, however, his confusing thoughts were interrupted by the ring of his phone. He answered sleepily, expecting a cat to be stuck in a tree. However, what he heard on the other end made him grin triumphantly and rush to put on his uniform.

* * *

"NYPD!" Arthur bellowed as he barged in. He didn't kick down the door this time, hoping not to repeat his previous error. He quickly scanned the room, but stopped short when he saw the criminal with his hands in the air, sitting comfortably on a table.

"Hey, Constable. Figured you'd be the first on the scene," Freedom Phantom stated, a hint of amusement in his voice. Arthur furrowed his brows

"What are…"

"You're backup's gonna arrive soon, yeah? Why don't we just talk for a bit?"

"This is some sort of trap, isn't it? What are you going to do this time? Take off your clothes and then blow a hole in the wall?" The thief's eyes widened for a second before he burst out into laughter.

"Haha! No, no, nothin' like that! But, if it makes you feel better…" He reached up and gripped the cloth of his ski mask, then swiftly removed it with grace and precision. Arthur knew the thief's expertise meant he'd practiced many times before, but Arthur couldn't help but find the display somewhat attractive.

"There. Now, instead of the Freedom Phantom, I'm just Alfred."

For a moment, neither of the two spoke. Arthur found the thief even more handsome without his mask on and was simply content to admire his face. His hair was dirty blonde and flowed smoothly, except for one strange cowlick that stood straight up. Realizing the lack of response from the policeman, Alfred decided to re-ask his question.

"Uh…so, what do ya say? I'm gonna get captured anyways. Why don't we just talk for now?" Arthur snapped out of his trance and took a few moments to process what he was just asked. He then lowered his gun and did a quick scan around the room. The only way in and out was the door he was blocking, and if the thief tried to kis- er, if he did what he did last time, he'd run straight into Roderich and Eliza before he ever reached the exit.

"Very well." Alfred's eyes lit up.

"Cool! Okay, so, I was wondering…Why did you leave London to come to New York?"

"Moron. I'm not telling you. Pick a different topic or you're under arrest," Arthur explained, not even batting an eye. Maybe it was a sore spot for him, but he denied it so effortlessly that it must've been something he was used to doing.

"Okay! Fine! Jeez! Um… favorite color?" Alfred asked, hopeful. His hope was dashed, however, when Arthur stared at him in annoyance.

"Are you serious?" he queried, tone flat and unamused.

"Hey! It's a legitimate question! Anyways, my favorites are red, white, and blue!" he exclaimed, doing a small fist pump into the air. For being a criminal, he had an awful lot of patriotism.

"Actually, mine, as well. Though I am a fan of green." At this, Alfred looked into the policeman's eyes. He had to squint a little, since he was farther away than when they'd first met, but he could still see the vibrant green shade he remembered.

"Yeah, I'm startin' to become one, too," Alfred murmured, in a daze.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur asked, not sure if he heard him correctly.

"I mean, uh, do you have any pets?" Alfred replied quickly, snapping out of his trance. Arthur hesitated a moment, definitely picking up on Alfred's all-too-hasty answer. Alfred grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. He was certainly trying to hide whatever he'd just said, but Arthur decided to let it go for now.

"As a matter of fact, I do. A cat," Arthur stated simply.

"Really? Me, too! What kind?" asked Alfred excitedly.

"A Scottish Fold. And yours?"

"Mine's a Maine Coon! He's got a lot of fuzzy hair around his neck, so it almost looks like he's wearing a collar 24/7. He also has weird markings around his eyes that almost look like glasses!" As he spoke, Alfred moved his arms eagerly. Arthur saw this spectacle and smiled, almost to the point of laughing. Alfred continued to rant about his cat's personality, with Arthur only picking up bits and pieces.

"Does this exciting animal have a name?" he questioned, a bit of sarcasm leaking into his voice. Luckily, Alfred didn't hear it.

"Sure does! Coffee!" Alfred exclaimed. Arthur stared at him for a moment before he smirked, and found a small giggle work its way out of his mouth.

"You named your cat…Coffee?" he asked, before finally cracking and bursting out with a laugh.

"Hey! Quit laughing!" Alfred cried, but the Brit replied by keeling over and clutching his sides, loud guffaws echoing in the room.

"I didn't name him, okay? He's a rescue from the animal shelter, and that's the only name he responds to!" Alfred explained, feeling embarrassed. Arthur wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and composed himself.

"From the animal shelter? Hmm. Federal criminal takes in a wounded pet? Somehow, that's not matching up."

"Well, sometimes things don't always fit into nice little boxes. May be a bit hard for a policeman like you to understand, but there aren't always categories to fit in," Alfred grumbled angrily.

"Ah, my apologies. You're right; I shouldn't have assumed that all felons are heartless twats."

"Somehow, when you say it that way, it doesn't make me feel any better, Constable." Arthur chuckled. He found that he was enjoying spending time with Alfred.

"Arthur. Call me Arthur."

"Huh?" asked Alfred. Did he hear correctly? Was this guy serious?

"Well, since I know your name, I think it only fair that you know mine." Arthur extended his hand to Alfred. He squinted at the green-eyed policeman in shock and a bit of amusement.

"You sure you wanna be shakin' hands with a federal criminal?" Alfred tested.

"Well, if you are such a caring pet owner, you might not be such a bad chap after all." Alfred smirked before taking his hand and firmly shaking it.

"Well, then, Arthur, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"And I you." Their eyes met, and they both smiled.

* * *

After their hands parted, Arthur noticed that Alfred was squinting. Curious, he decided to ask about it.

"Why are you squinting?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't have my glasses on, so I can't see very well. Hard to wear a ski mask and glasses at the same time."

"Oh, well, why don't you wear contacts?" he asked, a bit confused. Alfred looked at him in horror, as if Arthur just suggested that he cut off his own hands and feed them to his cat.

"Dude, no way! Do you know what kind of natural disasters would occur!? Besides, I'm not _that_ blind without them. I can still see! A little."

"Really," Arthur started in disbelief. He took five steps backwards, until he was nearly in the door frame. He held up three fingers.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked. Alfred squinted hard, then widened his eyes, then squinted again.

"Okay, you got me. I can't tell."

Arthur allowed a triumphant smirk, but then a thought occurred to him. If Alfred couldn't see without his glasses, how was he so good at escaping? He had managed to run away without a trace no less than five times, and was just barely seen on the sixth time. Maybe he'd been wearing his glasses the first few times, meaning he wasn't wearing his ski mask.

"Were you wearing that ski mask during all your other crimes?"

"Well, yeah. I'd be stupid not too."

 _That's odd_ , Arthur thought. _How could a man who can't see 5 feet in front of him manage to escape the NYPD effortlessly on multiple occasions?_ He would've continued theorizing, if not for the two police members who ran up behind him.

"Kirkland! Good, you've found him!" cried Eliza as she ran up behind him, panting a little. Roderich came a few seconds afterwards, panting heavily.

"We would've been here sooner if Lady Fair over there could've bothered to walk faster." Roderich had no retort, however, as his breath was currently occupied by simply trying to live. Arthur knew he should've felt relieved, but he couldn't help but feel sad that his time with Alfred was coming to an end.

As if worried the other police members might've suspected friendship between the two of them, Alfred reached behind him and pulled out his hand gun.

"I wouldn't even try it, buster. You're under arrest for thievery and defiance of the law!" Much like Arthur had done earlier, Eliza dove at the criminal. Instead of dodging, however, he simply put down his gun and allowed Eliza to place handcuffs around his wrists. She strung him along behind her and began walking out of the building.

"Hey, will I be allowed to wear glasses in prison?" Alfred asked, walking behind Eliza and next to Arthur. Arthur grinned in amusement.

"If you're good."

"Aw, man! You should've told me that _before_ I pulled out my gun! Thanks for the heads up!" Alfred whined, puffing his cheeks. Arthur felt a bit of playful annoyance rise inside him.

"You're lucky I'm even talking to you! Besides, if you're legally blind without them, we have to give them to you," he explained in a matter-of-factly tone.

"Oh, that's good. For a second, I was worried you were gonna keep them from me like the sadist you are," Alfred teased, pretending to wipe sweat off his brow.

"I'm a sadist, am I? Have you looked in the mirror recently, mister Freedom Phantom?"

Their playful banter swapped back and forth for a while longer, before Eliza finally got sick of it and told them to can it. While walking down the long hallway and out to the police cars, Roderich listened to the two from behind. For some strange reason, Roderich got the feeling that there was a spark between these two, as if they wanted nothing more than to hold hands and to snuggle together. A bit outlandish, he thought admittedly, but as he listened and watched the two, he saw Alfred's playful smile turn into mock anger, while the same actions were repeated on Arthur's face. He thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to these two than either of them knew.

Roderich then realized that if this were indeed the case, those two would have a long and bumpy road ahead of them. After all, one of them was just arrested for committing a federal crime. And, although legal in New York by the State Legislature, gay marriage wasn't exactly celebrated. But as he watched the two blondes from behind, he thought that if they continued their relationship the way it appeared to be now, there may be some hope for them in the future.


	4. The Interrogation

Hello again, and welcome one and all to chapter 4! Mysteries are solved, but even more arise in the process! What a confusing plotline! (not really though...)

Anyways, I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. I know there isn't a lot in terms of romance, but I hope at the very least it's pleasant to read.

French Translation Notes:

"Salut? C'est un nouveux prisonnier?" = Hello? Is that a new prisoner?

"C'est magnifique!" = How wonderful!

"Mon dieu!" = My God!

And there are others such as "oui" and "mon ami," but many are already familiar with those terms. If not, looking them up will be incredibly simple.

Now, on with the show! Please enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Interrogation**

Alfred laid on the squeaky prison cot, newly dressed in a hideous orange jumpsuit and his trusty glasses. He wasn't sure exactly where Arthur was, but he knew the next time he'd see him would be the interrogation. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Arthur, he did not want to go in for questioning. Unfortunately, that would be as soon as the Brit finished his report. And, if he had half the work ethic Alfred thought he had, that'd be pretty darn soon.

"Salut? C'est un nouveux prisonnier?" called a voice from the other cell.

"Huh? What?" he replied dumbly. Alfred got up and walked to the bars, craning his neck as far as he could to see who had spoken. He couldn't quite see him, but he did see a red blanket on his cot.

"Pardon moi, but are you by any chance the Freedom Phantom?" asked the voice.

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

"Ah, c'est magnifique! Monsieur Holmes finally found you, Irene! That English pig-dog is finally going to get somewhere with his life! I was certain he'd never find anyone, but here you are! You're going to make such a cute pair! You _must_ invite me to your wedding!" he cried, hands on his cheeks, and squealing uncontrollably.

"Hang on, what? What did you just say? What does that even mean? What wedding?" Alfred scrambled, utterly confused. He had no idea what the guy was talking about, but his voice did seem a bit familiar.

"Ah, nothing, nothing. Do not worry, mon ami," Francis said, waving his hand in dismissal. Alfred wasn't satisfied, but there wasn't anything he could really do. Why had the familiar voice called him Irene?

Alfred craned his neck one more time, but still could not see the eccentric man. What he did see, however, was a stuffed polar bear that looked all too familiar.

"Hold up. Is that… Kumajiro?" he asked, a bit concerned.

"Oui. How do you know him?" the voice replied.

"Well, he's my brother's. Matt never goes anywhere without him," Alfred explained. While that wasn't entirely true, as Matthew was only his half-brother, it was true enough.

"Wait a minute, are you… Alfred?" he asked, enunciating the syllables in a way no other French man would. Finally, Alfred realized who he was talking to.

"FRANCIS!?" he exclaimed. No wonder the voice sounded so familiar!

"Mon dieu, it's been so long! Two, almost three years?" Francis asked, using one hand to push back his long bangs.

"Somethin' like that. Man, I can't believe this! I never saw you once I started taking all my jobs, and after the incident, I didn't think I'd ever see you again! And here we are!" Alfred exclaimed, excited. Who would've thought that after all this time he'd finally see Francis again, and in jail no less? Alfred's enthusiasm only lasted a few moments, however, as he remembered why Francis and his brother broke up.

"Wait a sec. I'm still mad at you! Why'd you do all that crap!? Cheat on my brother AND rape someone while you're at it? What the hell, man!?" Alfred shouted.

"Ah, oui. I thought you'd ask that. Just so you know, I would never cheat on Mathieu, and I never raped that girl. That whole case was just a large misunderstanding."

"Oh, yeah? How so?"

"First of all, I never-" but Francis was cut off by the opening of the cell wing door. Arthur walked in, with some sort of clipboard in hand.

"Alfred F. Jones, it's time for your questioning," Arthur stated.

"Wait, but, Francis-" Alfred began, wanting to know what happened.

"Go ahead, I'll tell you when you return."

"What's this about?" Arthur asked, peering between the two cells with a demanding look.

"Ah, no need to worry your little head about it. Irene and I were just chatting," Francis stated, a mischievous grin on his face. Alfred scrunched his brows in confusion, but Arthur blushed. He quickly unlocked the cell door, grabbed Alfred, closed it, and went on his merry way.

* * *

"Hey, so Francis called me 'Irene'. Twice. Any idea what that's about?" Alfred asked, bouncing along behind Arthur. Arthur blushed once more.

"You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you," Arthur stated, playing with his fingers.

"So you do know! Tell me!" Alfred cried, desperately wanting to know.

"No, I don't think so."

"Tell me!"

"Alright, fine! Since you want to know so badly, I'll tell you! Francis is referring to Irene Adler, the fictional character from the Sherlock Holmes series. However, he is under the false belief that Irene and Sherlock had a romantic relationship. In all of the original books, never once does it state that. He, like many of the other ignorant people out there, believes in all the newer movies and telly shows that do depict them in such a way!"

"Okay, woah, woah. Calm down there, history buff," Alfred said. He remained silent for a few moments as he processed the information he had just received.

"So, if I'm Irene, then… who's Sherlock?" Alfred asked. Immediately, Arthur turned a deep shade of red that spread all the way to his ears. Alfred could see it, but he had no idea what it meant. Other than, of course, he wouldn't be getting an answer to his question.

Finally, the two arrived at the questioning room. Arthur opened the door and motioned for Alfred to enter.

"I think its best that you let _me_ ask the questions now, Mr. Freedom Phantom. Have a seat." Arthur gestured to the chair across the metal table. Alfred did so, a bit nervous for what was coming.

"Now then, how many objects do you admit to stealing?" Arthur began. Probably not the best question to ask, but he had to start somewhere.

"None," Alfred replied, looking at the ground.

"Are you sure? Lying isn't going to help you in the long run."

"None. I didn't steal anything!" Alfred cried.

"You mean to tell me that you've stricken five times and you haven't stolen a single object? How do you explain all the missing items, then?"

"Well, um…it's uh…"

"I'm waiting," Arthur stated, growing impatient.

"I don't really know. With all the cases, I was just supposed to go in and look like I was doing something, then leave at a certain time. It was in the news the next day that Freedom Phantom had stolen fill-in-the-blank object, when I never really did."

"You were supposed to? Who told you to do it? And why did you listen?" Yes, the question Alfred was afraid of. He sighed loudly, preparing for a deep breath.

"Blackmail," Alfred said. He paused a moment, allowing the word to hang in the air. "I started receiving these weird letters in the mail. The first one said that they'd been watching me and could use my strength, and that if I didn't agree to help them out, they'd find my brother and do horrible things to him. I went to the location, and there were two men there. A tall guy with a long white scarf and a short guy with long brown hair tied in a ponytail. I couldn't see their faces, but they had accents. I can't remember what they sounded like anymore, it's been too long. They asked me what I wanted my code name to be, and 'Freedom Phantom' sort of stuck."

"I didn't steal anything, I just pried open some doors and moved some crates. But on the news the next morning, Freedom Phantom had stolen several cases of rare imported liquor."

Arthur listened quietly. He knew he should be taking Alfred's story with a grain of salt, but he believed every word. As a responsible policeman, he pretended that he still didn't believe Alfred's tale.

"Is there any evidence to this?" he asked.

"Well, I still have the letters that they sent me. Other than that, though…they're real crafty. They tapped the feed on the security cameras, and they always wore rubber gloves to hide their fingerprints. I doubt you could find anything," Alfred replied, knowing that the lack of evidence was not good for him.

"Why didn't you come to the police instead?"

"The first time I got a letter, I was too scared to think straight. But by the time I thought about going to the cops, they told me specifically not to contact you. I'd already seen what they could do and I didn't want to risk anything, so I just went along with everything they said," Alfred explained.

"Well, then. We're going to need those letters. Until we can prove your innocence, you're going to have to stay here. Understood?" Arthur asked. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy, he didn't even look like he was of drinking age. Wait a tick. Just how old _was_ Alfred?

"How old are you, anyways, Alfred?" he asked.

"I'm 19. Why do you ask?" he replied, curious.

"19!? What are you doing in prison!? You should be in college!" Arthur cried, upset at this news. He himself was only 23, but he was able to finish college. Was Alfred not there by choice? Had he simply decided to forego it? College was expensive, after all.

"Well, I'd love to, honestly I would. I was actually one semester away from receiving my bachelor's, but I have a feeling I won't be getting it once they hear what's happened to me." Arthur looked at the taller man sitting in the seat across from him, head turned away in hopelessness. He remembered when they first met, where he'd seen excitement and enthusiasm in Alfred's eyes. Where had that all gone? He just wanted to continue his education, and protect his brother. But now he was stuck in prison, like a bird who longed to be free. Arthur clenched his fists in anger.

"Blast it all! It's not fair!" he shouted, standing up and slamming his fists on the table. Alfred looked up in shock.

"I'm going to prove you innocent, and then you can get back to college. You won't have to worry about those fiends; Detective Kirkland is going to take care of them! Your brother is going to be all right, and I'm sure Coffee is at home worried sick. Don't you worry your pretty little head none, Alfred. It's all going to be just fine!" Arthur insisted, determination gleaming in his eyes.

"Arthur…" Alfred said, truly touched by the policeman's words. He then smirked as he caught a small slip up in the Brit's speech. "My 'pretty' little head?"

"Quiet, you! It's high time you return to your cell!" he yelled, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going, I'm going!" Alfred said, standing up. He and Arthur walked back to the cell room, where Alfred was locked back in safe and sound. As Arthur opened the cell wing door to leave, Alfred finally spoke up.

"Hey Arthur?" Alfred asked. Arthur paused and looked back at the young man with bright blue eyes, trusty glasses, and a strange cowlick.

"Thanks. It means a lot to me."

And with that, Arthur nodded and closed the door behind him, determined to work extra hard for Alfred's sake.


	5. The Truth of the Arrest

Hello and welcome to this week's episode of The Freedom Phantom! This time around, we get to learn more about our mysterious villains! Though I'm guessing most of you have figured out who they are by now. I really dislike making any Hetalia characters villains; they all have their highlights and don't deserve to be bad guys (plus it could also be seen as incredibly racist). But if there had to be bad guys, it would have to be these two.

Wanna guess who the bad guys are? Wanna predict why Arthur moved to New York? Wanna comment on how wonderful or how downright awful this story is? Just wanna say hi? Leave a review!

Xiao Mei is Taiwan, and her boyfriend is Hong Kong. But he doesn't play a very big role, so if you prefer Taiwan with another guy, feel free to substitute him in your head. Enjoy Chapter 5!

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The Truth of the Arrest**

Alfred leaned back on his metal cot, head rested on his hands. The interrogation wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, he couldn't have asked for a better outcome. But it still took a lot out of him. With some reluctance, he realized that he still hung onto Arthur's words from earlier. Not much time had passed since his return, ten minutes at most, but it was enough for him to begin questioning certain things about the policeman, and his relationship to him.

Alfred didn't question too long before he gave up. He didn't enjoy analyzing and theorizing human behavior. That kind of stuff was really complicated, and dwelling on it too long would just give him a headache.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened with my case?" called a French voice from seemingly nowhere. It caught Alfred off-guard, but he responded promptly.

"What? Well, I wanna know, but - dude, I've been here for ten minutes! Why didn't you ask me sooner?" Alfred asked. He waited a moment for Francis' response.

"I know how harsh interrogations can be, especially when no one believes your innocence. I simply thought you might need some time to compose your thoughts," Francis replied, the air of something darker hanging in his words. Alfred didn't catch it, however, and dove into his response.

"Well, I'm ready now. Tell me what happened." Francis chuckled at the headstrong American before he took a deep breath and began to recount the truth.

* * *

The night of the incident was June 30th, the night before Matthew's birthday. Francis had told Matthew earlier that he wouldn't be home until late that night, for a particular birthday surprise. Matthew was certain he already knew what is was, though: one of Francis Bonnefoy's famous Three-tiered Maple Cakes. An elaborate dessert that the two had come up with together, but Francis, being a pastry chef, could replicate with ease.

Francis owned a special order bakery, or "une pâtisserie" where many people both rich and poor would come. He would normally stop cooking at 7:00, then cleaned and closed up by 8:00. Today, however, he would spend the night fashioning the perfect cake for his boyfriend's birthday long after closing time. At least, that was his plan.

"Um, excuse me, sir? I know it's kind of late, but I was wondering if you could take one last request? It's my boyfriend's birthday tomorrow," a young girl asked, timidly. Francis looked up from wiping the counter. She had long black hair and dark brown eyes, with a flower hairclip on her head. She was probably from somewhere in Asia, but Francis didn't know his Asian countries well enough to place her. As much as he would love to grant the request of a lovely young girl, there was an even lovelier Canadian that he had to think of first.

"Je suis désolé, ma cherie. I have to create a dessert for my own dear one tonight, so I'm afraid I've no time for another," Francis explained sadly. The girl didn't seem all that surprised, but tears began to well in her eyes.

"Oh…r-right…you, you really can't? No, please say you can! Please! You HAVE to!" she cried, becoming desperate. She grabbed onto Francis' elbow in anxiety, looking up at him pleadingly.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid it's quite impossible. Perhaps tomorrow morning?" Francis offered, hoping to calm the poor thing down. She simply became more upset. She began chanting 'No!' quietly until she got louder and louder, practically shrieking the word. Francis became very worried. Either she loved her boyfriend a little too much, or there was something else at stake in this girl's life.

Suddenly, the glass in the front door shattered violently and in marched two men wearing white masks and holding pistols. One man was very tall and large, probably sporting an intimidating face behind his mask. He wore a long white scarf and a light brown cape. The other, in contrast, was very short and had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Let's try again. You will make cake. No questions asked. Or we put shot in head," demanded the short one, a thick accent seething from behind his mask. The tall one spoke next.

"If you're wanting your skull to stay intact, you will make cake like little girl says. Also," the tall one reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bottle of a mysterious purple liquid and placed it on the counter between them and the French man. "Use this as replacement for the milk."

Francis swallowed and tried to gather himself. Like the charismatic businessman that he was, he knew he just had to find his voice somewhere and explain calmly to these two madmen.

"But, monsieur, please. I have another dessert I must craft before I can work on-"

"You have four hour. If you no make like we say, we put bullet in head," barked the short one.

"We'll be doing the watching," warned the tall one ominously. He turned his head to the girl and tapped his coat pocket, as if to indicate he had something of hers inside. She let out a small sob in response. With that, the two men left, but to return again in four hours.

For a few moments, an eerie silence hung in the air, interrupted occasionally by the sniffles of the poor girl. Francis ducked into his office and emerged with a box of tissues. She took them gratefully. After regaining more of her composure, she began to explain.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. My boyfriend, he…he's been caught up with those thugs for some time now, especially the short one. I don't know what they want, but they told me to ask you to make them a cake, and I'm certain they're up to no good. Whatever's in that bottle there is likely poisonous," the girl explained in between sniffs. Francis stared at the peculiar bottle, to the sniffling child, and back again. As much as he craved to create the dessert he'd been planning for his lovely boyfriend, he knew that Matthew would simply have to wait.

As quickly as he could, Francis fired up the kitchen, allowing the young girl to help. She was a surprisingly good assistant, and together the two of them were able to complete the cake with a few minutes to spare. Francis looked up at the clock, which now read close to midnight, and held his breath. After many painstakingly long seconds, the two masked men made their reappearance.

"Looks like you made a good cake. But I'm afraid you know too much for us to just leave you like this," stated the short one.

"Wha-"  
"Don't worry, we'll be showing of the mercy. Your body will be perfectly fine. We just need to keep you out of the way for a while," said the tall one. Francis could practically see the sadistic smile behind the mask.

"You will stay in country. Is too damn expensive to send people overseas. We will just change things to keep your big European mouth shut," growled the short one in continuation. The vagueness of their statements chilled Francis.

"What do you mean?"

Swiftly, the short one round kicked Francis in the gut. Hard. As Francis fell to the ground in agony, the tall one grabbed the arm of the little girl and twisted it in a horribly painful way. She yelped in surprise before going limp against the tall man's firm grip. Francis felt one more blow to his face before he blacked out.

* * *

"And then? What happened next?"

"I appeared in court to testify against the crime of raping that very girl. Her name was Xiao Mei, I believe, and she was the only witness brought to the stand. She had a broken arm and a very scared expression, and likely was being forced into telling lies due to those horrific men."

"Dude! That's _so_ not fair! _They_ attacked you and that chick! Why are you here and not them!?"

"A mystery I wish I knew myself, mon ami," Francis replied sadly.

"I can't believe it. Those guys are more out of hand than I thought. Looks like I'm not the only victim," Alfred muttered to himself.

"Pardon? Did you say something?" Francis asked.

"Ah, no, don't worry about it. Anyways, you shouldn't be saying this to me, but to Matt! Once he knows the truth he'll be so relieved! And maybe he can do something about it!" Alfred suggested. Francis let out a humorless laugh.

"Believe me, mon ami, I've tried. Your brother is more stubborn than he pretends to be. Besides, only detectives can look into cases after they've already closed."

"You mean…like Arthur? He is a detective, right?" Alfred asked, his interest piqued.

"Ohon, so here is where your priorities lie. Do you always fantasize about the policeman?"

"N-no! I just – I mean – I uh –" was his most intelligent answer as his cheeks flushed. Francis smirked playfully.

"Actually, Casse-couille has been investigating my case. Though I doubt he'll admit it. I have a feeling that he's investigating yours as well now."

As he heard this, Alfred couldn't fight the smile that etched its way onto his face. Arthur was good at his job, and even though he seemed grouchy and aloof, he was fighting for them.

* * *

A week passed since then, with long and boring days filled with push-ups and sit ups. At least for Alfred, anyways. Francis preferred to take naps. Occasionally, Alfred would see Matthew pop in and the two would chat, though this was always during Francis' nap times. Alfred insisted that Matthew listen to Francis' story, but he was still not ready to hear it. All the while, Alfred never once laid eyes on a certain bushy-eyebrowed Brit, but had his thoughts on him quite often.

One late night, Alfred had trouble sleeping. He usually slept like a rock, but something must've been bothering him more than usual. He just couldn't figure out what. He sat awake at the end of his metal bed, only the sounds of Francis' snoring filling the empty air.

Suddenly, he heard the door open. In walked the British policeman, large and dark circles under his eyes. He paused when he saw Alfred awake, but continued once he heard Francis' snores.

"I didn't expect you to be awake at this hour," He remarked, closing the door behind him and approaching the barred door of Alfred's cell.

"Yeah, me neither. I couldn't sleep."

"If you stay up late into the night, you'll upset your girlfriend," Arthur commented casually.

"Oh yeah, like you didn't stay up late either," Alfred retorted. "Besides, I don't have a girlfriend."

"But surely there's no way a saucy lad like you is single… Oh! I'm sorry, do you have a boyfriend? I didn't mean to assume…" Arthur trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed at his error.

"No, no. I don't have a boyfriend either. I'm single. But I am bisexual," Alfred explained. At this, Arthur noticeably lightened.

"Really? Actually, I am as well."

"Yeah. I thought so," Alfred replied calmly. Arthur jumped and widened his eyes in shock. Alfred already knew? But how?

"I beg your pardon?"

"Back when we first met? You were totally blushing. If that's not a sign of interest, then I need a better teacher for social cues." Arthur turned away, cheeks and ears turning pink and temper beginning to fume.

"Well maybe if you weren't so bad at sensing the mood you wouldn't need a social cues teacher!" Arthur cried indignantly. Alfred stared at him in confusion.

"Can't sense the mood? What do you mean?" he asked calmly, tilting his head to one side.

"That! There! Exactly! Can't you tell that I'm furious?" Arthur cried, pointing an accusatory finger at the younger man.

"Um, yeah, I guess, but-"

"Would you have known if I didn't point it out to you?" Arthur challenged.

"Well, I was told I'm supposed to watch for facial expressions and listen for vocal indications, and I'm getting better, but it's still really freaking hard! And it doesn't help that you just point out the negatives about me!" Alfred shouted.

"Whatever. Arguing with you is pointless anyways. You should get some sleep. Not because I want you to; I could care less what you do. Do it because I'm going home and there's no reason to stay up any later," Arthur huffed.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Like I care," countered Alfred.

Arthur huffed once more before he turned on his heel and went back towards the exit. As he stared at the policeman's back, Alfred remembered Francis' words about Arthur's work, taking on two extra cases that were already closed. Alfred smiled and suddenly felt the need to thank him.

"Thanks for looking into my case." Arthur stopped and turned around again in confusion.

"How did you-"

"Francis." Arthur scoffed and felt his temper rise again.

"Of course. I'm going to strangle him tomorrow. When that happens I'll have to be thrown in there right alongside you," he explained.

"I'm looking forward to it," Alfred replied, part in joke but also in honesty. He certainly was looking forward to seeing him again. And as Arthur laughed his reply, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Arthur was telling the truth, too.

"As am I."


	6. The Constable

Hello and welcome to chapter 6! Or, as I like to call it, THE FEELS CHAPTER.

Finally, we get the answer to one of the biggest questions in the series: why did Arthur move to America? (To be with Alfred of course! :P). I do apologize for the lack of jokes in this chapter, but on the plus side our two lovebirds realize how they really feel about each other.

If you tend to cry at sad things, you might need a few tissues. But probably not a whole box. Probably.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 6: The Constable**

Normally, police stations don't have yards. Let alone ones with soft grass in a secluded spot, away from invasive onlookers. But the little station run by the strict German Chief of Officers in the middle of one of the toughest cities in the United States had one.

Arthur never minded the anomaly. In fact, he quite enjoyed it. He never went often, but when he did go, he could sort out his mind and obtain clarity on confusing cases. Normally that meant when a criminal was particularly crafty, but not today. Today he needed clarity on the subject of Alfred F. Jones.

He had known the man for almost three months now, and the two certainly were friends. But was there something more? Did Arthur want something more? And, more pressingly, did Alfred want something more? These sorts of questions were swimming around in his mind, so he came out to the yard.

After almost an hour of sitting on the cool grass and feeling the wind in his hair, he was much calmer, but no closer to a conclusion. Sighing, Arthur got up and decided maybe he'd pick on Francis a little. It did always put him in a good mood.

As Arthur walked in, however, he found two very quiet cells. Francis was asleep, even though it was only sunset. Arthur shrugged it off; Frogs have weird sleeping patterns. But what was especially strange was Alfred's cell. Normally if he wasn't ranting some nonsense about heroes and democracy, he was working his core. Today, however, he sat on the end of his bed eerily still.

"What's the matter, chap? Run out of good things to say about your country?" Arthur asked lightheartedly. Alfred shrugged in response. That was definitely not normal.

"Seriously, you're starting to scare me. What's going on here?" Arthur questioned, concern leaking into his voice.

"I'm not heroic at all, am I?" Alfred asked distantly, looking to a corner of his cell.

"What's this all of a sudden?"

"I was supposed to finish college and support my brother and our mom. She's a good lady, unlike our douchebag dads, and doesn't deserve to have a son in jail," Alfred began ominously. He stared at the distant corner of the room, all his previous excitement deflated. "The longer I'm in here the more I wonder what else I could've done. I could've fought them off or something, I could've run away and called the cops, and what did I do? Nothing. Some hero I am." As much as it hurt Alfred to feel these things, it hurt Arthur to hear these words. Where was the goofy, happy-go-lucky friend he'd come to know? Where was the loud, passionate idiot who didn't like thinking about human emotions?

Arthur only knew of one thing that cleared his head on days like Alfred's, on days where he wondered if he was even helping anyone at all. Decidedly, Arthur unlocked the door.

"Come on, then. We're going to stop this pity party." Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and led him to the yard out back, where the last rays of sunlight had already faded beyond the horizon. Alfred was grateful for the distraction from his dark thoughts, even if he didn't understand the policeman's actions. Alfred stared in amazement at the quiet, secluded area, immediately enjoying the fresh air on his face.

"Wow. I didn't know stations had yards out back. I thought that was only in prisons."

"As did I, until about two years ago when I moved here," Arthur replied, staring into the indigo horizon. Slowly, Alfred turned to look at him, a burning question on the front of his mind.

"I've been wondering about that. Why did you move here in the first place?" Arthur sighed, and then turned to look at Alfred. What a strange lad he was, seemingly fake and always lighthearted, but surprisingly genuine on occasion. Seemingly oblivious and airheaded, but surprisingly knowledgeable and good-natured. No matter the situation, though, Alfred was always sincere. Perhaps it was this sincerity, or simply Alfred himself, that pushed Arthur to recount his sins.

"I suppose you might as well know, since no one else ever will. Though it's a bit of a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?" Alfred sat down, as if to indicate that he wasn't going anywhere. Arthur chuckled before he followed suit.

"Well, it all started back when I was 17. If you can imagine a rebellious punk, with ripped skinny jeans, green tinted hair, and a black leather jacket with a bandanna wrapped around my neck - that was me." Alfred closed his eyes a moment, finding it hard to picture the proper British policeman to be an unruly troublemaker.

"I belonged to a sort of gang and we always caused trouble for the constables. We would paint graffiti on upper-class apartment buildings. We would stick gum to the handles of telephone boothes. We would prank call the fire department on rainy or snowy days. But we never did anything that would actually hurt someone else. That was strictly off-limits. Or…or at least, that was the plan." Arthur clenched his fist a bit and turned his head away from Alfred, out to the sunless horizon.

"We thought it would be hilarious to light fireworks in the bathroom of the children's hospital. We were snickering, we thought it would be so funny when they went off and lit up the room in different colours and sounds. But we also thought that there was no way a simple prank could be deadly. Boy were we wrong.

"How bloody hilarious it was, to find that a young boy entered the toilet and was found dead not 10 minutes later. We had caused his death, Alfred, by doing simple little pranks. I was so conflicted; I felt so much pain in my chest and such regret, but being the insufferable brat I was, I had no idea how to fix it. I asked a constable how to get rid of guilt, and he told me, 'You can't. The only thing you can do is save more lives, to try and atone for the one you lost.'" Alfred's eyes widened in shock, but Arthur held his even gaze on the distance.

"So I did. I went to university, studied my arse off, and eventually became a constable. And I was a damn good one, too. 100% success rate. I was at the top of my game.

"But there was one case…that I failed completely. An arsonist was planning to fire explosives in an office building bathroom. I felt this was the case where I could finally redeem myself, but…" Arthur paused and turned his head away from Alfred, away from the horizon, and down to the grass. "When I got there, I saw my old girlfriend, Alice. She looked over at me in shock, but continued working anyways. And you know what I did? I stood there. I watched as she lit up and set off those bombs, and I watched as she killed hundreds of people. I found myself absolutely frozen to my spot, unable to do a bloody thing. Not one damned thing." Tears escaped from Arthur's eyes, and heard his voice crack from the pressure of trying to keep his emotions in check. Alfred watched in pained horror, able to do precious little.

"Alice, the girl I trusted, murdered innocent people. And I let her. I let her, Alfred. It was all my fault. I was supposed to be saving lives, and here I was allowing them all to die." Alfred teared up as well, and wrapped Arthur into a tight hug. He didn't know what else to do, but Arthur leaned into it gratefully, tears still flowing down his cheeks. Arthur let himself breathe a few moments, and allowed his silent cries to cease before he continued.

"After that, I tried to continue my work, but I lived in constant fear that I would run into another situation where I couldn't move. After nearly driving myself mad, I decided to move to a new city, a new country, where I could continue helping people without that constant weight looming over my shoulders. I do still worry about it; I worry about the day where I'll be all alone, forced to watch as someone else commits murder in front of my eyes." Alfred sat on the cool grass in the twilight, holding the wreck of a policeman in his arms. Arthur shook silently, having just released the darkest part of his past. His breath was shaky and his grip on Alfred's solid shoulders was desperate.

After some time, Alfred tried to think of a solution, of some way that he could help Arthur in even the tiniest way possible.

"Maybe you need a partner. If you had someone by your side, you wouldn't be so nervous all the time," Alfred offered, trying his best to sound reassuring. Arthur let out a humorless laugh.

"Right, but who would want to partner with a nagging, unreliable, stubborn Brit?" he asked rhetorically. Alfred considered it a moment.

"Yeah, that's a good point," he replied. But after some more thought, Alfred added, "I would be your partner." Again, Arthur chuckled unamused, and drew away from Alfred a little.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't have to pretend."

"No! I really mean it! I could be the hero if you freeze up! Besides, your kind of stubbornness, the ability to continue doing anything even when it seems difficult and impossible, that's the kind of stubbornness that I don't have. And maybe I need more of it."

As Alfred said this, a scene quickly flashed through Arthur's mind. It was a picture of him, yet not him, in a red coat, standing opposite of a blue-coated Not-Alfred on a muddy field on a rainy day.

 _"_ _All I want…Is my Freedom!"_ declared this other Alfred.

 _"_ _You idiot! Why can't you follow anything through to the end?"_ replied the other Arthur.

But as quickly as this revelation occurred, it vanished. Whoever those look-alikes were, they were in a far off place, in a different world and universe.

 _His_ Alfred was here, and Arthur felt a sense of deep affection whirl in his chest. He tightened his grip once more, this time filled with endearment and tenderness.

"You may be the most loud, annoying, obnoxious, immature, self-righteous person I've ever met. And yet, I can't have hoped to meet a better human being."

Alfred felt a surge of… _something_ swell in his chest, making him feel warm and dizzy. He had no idea what it was, or why he was feeling it. But what he did know was that being around Arthur, looking at him, thinking about him, and touching him, made him feel this way. Was it attraction? Desire? Affection? Or maybe…was it love? What is love, anyways? This kind of clenching in his chest, this craving to hold Arthur in his arms and feel his warm presence and hear his voice…was that love?

Arthur wiped his tears and stood up, but felt a little cold from the sudden lack of Alfred's presence.

"Come on, then. Let's get you back before anyone notices." Arthur extended his hand down to Alfred. He took it and stood up, but never once let go until he had to, all the way back in his cell. Reluctantly, they parted hands as Arthur locked the cell door.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Alfred asked suddenly, remembering the broken man from a few moments ago. Arthur looked up at him and smiled.

"I am. I feel remarkably better, as though a weight was lifted off of my chest. Thank you, Alfred. And good night." With that, the former constable turned and left the cell wing.

Alfred collapsed on his cot and sighed. "Looks like no one even noticed I was gone."

"Oh, oui. I noticed," came a French voice. Alfred jumped up in surprise. "Nothing escapes big brother Francis," continued the French man.

"Ugh. Of course you did."

"And it seems to me the two of you had a _very_ good time together," Francis noted, with a smirk on his face. Alfred, however, did not catch his hidden meaning.

"Yeah, I guess. But there is something I'm still a little confused on," Alfred replied distractedly. Francis inwardly sighed at the missed opportunity to tease him, but answered nonetheless.

"If it has anything to do with romance, you have come to the right place. Ask away, mon ami."

"Well, I was just wondering… How do you know when you're in love?" Francis was a bit taken aback by the honest question. But he smiled gently and answered with all of his wisdom and experience:

"When you look at someone and you know, without a doubt, that they are the most beautiful thing that you have ever seen."

And as Alfred imagined Arthur's face - happy, excited, confused, angry, irritated, delighted, sad, discomforted, fearful, and even in his worst state - he knew, without a doubt, that Arthur was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.


	7. The Kiss

Chapter 7 already! Whew this story has blown by fast! We're nearing the end!

Let me just say that there is a TON of fluff, sap, and cheese in this time around. SOOOOOO cheesy. Cheese, cheese, cheese, and more cheese. Did I mention there was cheese? Anywho, I think you'll really like this chapter. (Also please excuse the inaccuracy of how they find Xiao Mei. I had a bad case of Deus Ex Machina)

Oh, and the song Francis sings is a real song called "Quelqu'un m'a dit" by Carla Bruni. It's very beautiful, even if you don't know French.

I hope you all get the warmful feel-feels. (And maybe a few fangirl squeals?) Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 7: The Kiss**

Arthur walked in to the Chief's office, on his request. Apparently something disturbing had arrived at the station, so Arthur came as soon as he got the news. As he entered, he saw the chief sitting across from Alfred, both looking equally confused and baffled.

"What happened, Chief? You said something disturbing arrived?" Arthur asked, closing the door behind him. He sat down next to Alfred and awaited Ludwig's response.

"Ja, you could say that. See for yourself." He handed Arthur a small piece of paper folded in half. It read:

 _Greetings, detectives! You may have been close to catching me at the East Bank, but not this time! In fact, I will be so hard to catch that I will be striking at the West Bank at 7 pm this evening, and you will not notice me until I left!_

 _-Freedom Phantom_

"Wait a tick. What in the world? You didn't write this, did you, Alfred?" Arthur asked, now as baffled as his peers. Alfred shook his head.

"And Chief Beilschmidt told me that you guys had never received a letter from Freedom Phantom before, so I don't know what this means."

"I believe this is proof that Alfred's story is true. Which means he is free to leave," Ludwig explained. Alfred was immediately relieved to hear this. But he couldn't help but feel a bit sad that he wouldn't be seeing Arthur all the time anymore

"Holy smokes. You mean it? Wow…" Alfred spoke in mixed emotions. Arthur glanced over at Alfred. He was happy that his innocence was proved, but…but he didn't want him to leave. Arthur loved their time together, and he didn't want it to be over.

"However. This also means that your blackmailers aren't aware that you are in the station."

"Okay, so what?" Alfred asked, confused. Suddenly something clicked in Arthur's mind.

"So, that means that they're waiting to rope you into another scheme. I imagine they've already got a threat sent to your house, and are planning to do something horrid to you as we speak," Arthur explained.

"Indeed. I think sending you home now would only jeopardize your safety. As responsible police members, we cannot purposefully put a civilian in harm's way," Ludwig replied with a nod.

"Well, what do we do, chief? If we're not sending him home, where will he stay?" Arthur asked.

"I was thinking of letting him stay here." Ludwig turned to address Alfred, "You could sleep on the couch in the lounge room, or back in your cell if you desired. You will be free to leave the station with an accompanying officer, and full use of the station's facilities, provided you do not abuse your privileges." Alfred felt relieved and excited at the same time. So far today was turning out pretty good! Arthur put his hand to his chin, deep in thought.

"Detective Kirkland. Is there something on your mind?" Ludwig asked, looking over at Arthur.

"I doubt they sent us the real time and place. However, they likely sent a letter to Alfred's home detailing the true time and place of their attack. If I may, I would like to go and retrieve this letter."

"Very smart. But I will not allow you to go to whatever place they mention in the letter."

"What? Why not?"

"You fail to remember that you have no partner. We have no idea how many of these outlaws there are, and I am not sending you in alone. Once you retrieve the letter, I will be sending Hedervary and Edelstein to the location, for now to see how many they have and how they operate." Arthur wanted to catch Alfred's blackmailers himself, but knew better than to argue with the chief.

"Yes, sir. Understood," he sighed, standing to leave. Alfred followed suit, and closed the door of the chief's office behind him.

Alfred and Arthur turned to look at each other, an awkward silence forming between them. It was the first time seeing each other after they realized their feelings, and neither was quite sure how to react with their new personal revelations. An equal blush dusted their cheeks, but neither noticed it on the other's face. Finally, Alfred broke the silence.

"Hey, while you're at my place, would you mind checking on Coffee for me? I know the land lady probably got him food, but I'm still kinda worried about him."

"Of course. I'll see you when I return. Shouldn't be more than an hour," Arthur replied with a small smile before he began to walk away.

"And a change of clothes, too! I'm sick of wearing this jumpsuit! Just a T-shirt and jeans will be fine!"

"Oi! I'm not your bloody errand boy! Stop ordering me around!" he cried. Alfred chortled.

"Thanks, errand boy!" Arthur began muttering angrily as he stomped away. Alfred stood in the open awhile, simply watching the place where he left. After a bit, a figure sidled up behind him.

"You two are real close, eh?" came a quiet voice. Alfred jumped up in surprise and spun around to see Matthew, his ever quiet half-brother.

"Jeez, Matt! You scared me! Can't you be a little more noticeable?"

"Not my fault you're bad at hearing," he replied with a playful smile. "So, I hear they proved you innocent?"

"Heck yeah they did! I'm a free man now!" Alfred exclaimed with a small fist pump. Matthew grinned gently.

"So what are you going to do with all your free time? Spend it with Arthur?" he asked, with a suggestive smirk on his face and tone in his voice. Alfred blushed.

"M-maybe! What about you? You need to go talk to Francis!" Alfred urged. Matthew stared down at his feet.

"I don't know, Al. What he did…it still hurts…" Matthew admitted, face still pointed to his toes. Alfred sighed. He understood how his brother felt, but this couldn't go on any longer. Those two both loved each other, and it was time they just got back together again.

"I know, Matt. But you've gotta at least give him a chance to explain. It's the polite thing to do. And aren't you Canadians known for your extreme politeness?" Alfred asked.

"That's true, but-"

"And you gotta think of Francis' perspective! I would hate it if my boyfriend chose to ignore me, and I bet he doesn't like it either."

"Yeah, I know, but… I guess I'm just waiting for someone else to set things straight."

"I'm usually the hero, but only you can make things right between you guys. Go fix this crappy mess, lil bro." Alfred patted him on the back reassuringly. Matthew sighed, but smiled.

"Heh. You're right. Okay, I'll listen to his story!" Matthew exclaimed with determination burning in his eyes.

"That's the spirit! Good luck!" Alfred called as Matthew walked to the cell wing.

* * *

Matthew took a deep breath and cautiously opened the door. He wasn't ready to face him, and was afraid of knowing the truth, lest it be worse than he imagined. But something in him told him to go forward, to just go a little farther. He peered inside nervously. Just as he was about to call out Francis' name, he heard beautiful French singing.

 _Quelqu'un m'a dit que tu m'amais encore_

 _C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que_

 _Tu m'aimais encore_

 _Serait-ce possible alors?_

As Matthew heard the words, he immediately began to tear up. He knew what they meant.

 _Someone told me that you still love me_

 _It was that person who said_

 _You still love me_

 _Is it even possible?_

And all at once, Matthew understood everything. What had he been thinking? Francis had been all alone in a dingy cell for a year, without even the one person he loved more than anyone else in the world at his side. Tears fogging his vision, Matthew rushed to the cell door, and haphazardly hurled the door open before he flung himself onto Francis.

"Quoi? Mathieu!? What-"

"I'm so sorry, Francis! I left you here all alone for so long! I'm such a horrible person! Right when you needed me most, I walked away! I don't even care what happened! You were suffering all on your own, and it's all my fault! Oh, Francis! Je suis désolé. Je suis très, très, désolé!" Matthew sobbed, clutching his ex-boyfriend with all his might. Francis teared up as well, so relieved to have Mathieu back in his arms.

"Shh, shh. It's all right, I forgive you," Francis whispered, running his fingers through Matthew's long, soft hair.

"C'est possible," Matthew whispered suddenly.

"Pardon? What do you mean?" Francis retracted his hand and stared down at Matthew, who in turn looked up into his eyes.

"C'est possible. Je t'aime. Je t'ai toujours aimé. Je t'aimerai toujours."

And Francis pressed their lips together, for the first time in far too long. His hands cradled Matthew's round face, holding him gently just like he always had. Matthew wrapped his arms around Francis' back and shoulders, urging him closer and closer. All the while, the truth of Matthew's words whirling wonderfully in their heads. _It is possible. I love you. I've always loved you. And I always will_.

* * *

Alfred tapped on the coffee table in the lounge impatiently. He wasn't counting on Matt coming back anytime soon, but he was hoping for Arthur to return. He'd peeked in on the Canadian and the French man a little while ago, and smiled at what he saw. He still felt himself smiling, but nonetheless felt a bit bored. Just then, Arthur walked in to the lounge and saw the goofy grin on Alfred's face.

"What are you all smiles about?" Arthur asked, holding a box and a plastic bag in his hands. Alfred jumped up excitedly.

"You're finally back! And come see for yourself!" Arthur put down the objects in his arms, and allowed Alfred to drag him to the cell wing. He opened the door as quietly as he could to reveal the scene before them. The cell door was wide open, but Francis and Matthew were entwined in each other's arms, asleep on the cot.

"Well, fancy that. Looks like they straightened everything out," Arthur whispered, a satisfied smile on his face. He quietly close the door once again, to give the two some peace.

They walked back to the lounge, where Alfred retrieved his new clothes and went to go change into them. When he emerged again, Arthur found himself staring at Alfred's bare, toned biceps and how much more fitting those clothes looked on him. He seemed very… _American_ , which in itself was attractive, but he also seemed… _free_. No longer trapped by ridiculous circumstances, and now simply himself. Alfred noticed Arthur's intent gaze and flushed a little.

"Dude, will you quit staring? I know I'm hot, but you're starting to look a little creepy," Alfred said embarrassed, looking away. Arthur quickly flushed and averted his gaze as well.

"I was NOT staring! And you're really not all that attractive," Arthur spat, though both were complete lies. Alfred felt a bit sad at the denial, but decided to let it go.

"Oh, yeah? Well, whatever. What'd you find at my place?"

Arthur pulled out the letter he found from inside the box and showed it to Alfred.

 _At 5 pm tonight, arrive at the back entrance of the enterprise building across the street. Wear black. Do not tell anyone where you are going. Do not tell the police. Or suffer the consequences._

"I was right. You really can't go home," Arthur added. Alfred put the letter back down on the table.

"Well, then, I guess I'm staying here," Alfred said.

"Looks that way." Another awkward silence passed between them before Arthur stood up and took the letter to the chief's room. Alfred could here loud German shouts and chuckled. Eventually, Arthur emerged once again, looking deflated.

"What happened in there?"

"I asked if I could go instead of Hedervary and Edelstein, and he chewed me out. I'm not surprised. Sending in one agent instead of two is suicidal, and there's no reason for three of us to go. But still… I wanted to catch them myself…" Arthur confessed, trailing off a bit. Alfred widened his eyes a little in surprise, but smiled gratefully.

"Hey, I was wondering…I wanted to look in to Francis' case," Alfred admitted. He was free, but he wanted Francis to be out, too. Besides, it would get them one step closer to catching the real criminals. Arthur smiled.

"Why don't we step into my office?"

* * *

"Francis said something about a purple liquid, right? Any way we can trace that?" Alfred asked, leaning over piles of evidence and newspaper articles. Arthur sighed.

"Sadly, no. Francis' description of it was rather vague, and the bottle it was in and the cake it was used in are both long gone," Arthur explained.

"Great. Wait, maybe we can track the girl! If we ask her, I'm sure she can tell us what really happened, and maybe her boyfriend is still connected to them!" Alfred exclaimed.

"That's…brilliant! Why didn't I think of that? Come on, then, we need to find out more. Start searching through these articles for anything about her!"

And they searched. And searched. And searched. For as much publicity as the case got, there was hardly anything about the girl, other than she was 15 years old, and that she was raped. One of which wasn't even true.

"Ugh! Why isn't there anything about her? I'm getting real sick of looking. There can't be that many 15 year olds in Asia, right?"

"You forget that Asia is home to the two most heavily populated countries in the world. We would need her name and likely her country of birth before we find the right one."

"Wait, her name? Didn't Francis say it was something like…Jiao Rai? Yao Wang? Ciao May?"

"Xiao Mei?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah! That's it! Do a search!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly. Arthur pulled up the international persons database, and shared his results.

"Unfortunately, that's a very common name…in Taiwan. We're a little closer, but we'll need her hometown, school, or workplace to track her."

"Urgh, if her name didn't show up, there's no way in hell her hometown will."

"Yes, I'm afraid you're right. We can't give up now, though. Not when we've narrowed it down from 2 billion to 2 hundred," Arthur reasoned, picking up another stack of newspaper articles. Alfred looked at his studious face, and couldn't help but smile. It was amazing how much he could tell about Arthur simply by looking at his face.

Suddenly, something clicked in Alfred's head. Her face! Xiao Mei's face must've shown up somewhere!

"Her face! It's bound to be in here somewhere, even if we have to pull up courthouse records!" Alfred exclaimed.

"You're right! Give me a moment…yes, here it is! Now, apply this to our search engine…there! One match!"

"Sweet! Now all we gotta do is contact her! Probably face to face if we can, don't cha think?"

"I agree. It says here she's currently on vacation in New York City, lucky for us. I'll send her an email to explain the situation, and ask her to come to the station tomorrow."

Alfred collapsed in a chair opposite of Arthur's desk. He leaned his head back and sighed.

"Man, I'm beat. Reading all that stuff is so hard!" Arthur looked up from his email and chuckled.

"Poor Alfred. It's past your bedtime, isn't it?" he asked, with a demeaning tone to his voice.

"Why do you always treat me like a little kid?" Alfred pouted.

"Maybe I'd treat you like an adult if you acted like one," he replied simply, before turning back to the computer. Alfred felt frustrated by Arthur's nonchalance, and didn't like being treated as a kid one bit. He didn't want to be Arthur's little brother; he wanted to be his…well, his boyfriend! Alfred glanced to the other side of the room before getting an idea.

"Then let me do something that only an adult would do."

Alfred stood up and leaned across the desk. He planted a small kiss on Arthur's cheek. Arthur jumped in surprise and felt his whole face turn beet red.

"Goodnight, Arthur," Alfred whispered. He stood upright, turned, and left the office.

Arthur sat there in stunned silence for what felt like forever, his heart pounding in his chest and his cheek still on fire.

"That git," he muttered, bringing a gentle hand to his blushing face. He quickly finished the email and gathered his things, his face still as red as ever.

As he dashed toward the station exit, he paused and took a peek into the lounge. He found Alfred asleep on the couch, a satisfied grin from ear to ear. It ticked Arthur off how calm Alfred was while he was rattled and - dare he say it - wanting more. Arthur quietly walked to the couch and leaned down, leaving a small peck on Alfred's cheek.

Arthur expected Alfred to have no reaction, or better yet, become discomforted and flustered in his sleep, but instead…he saw Alfred's grin widen. Arthur's blush deepened, if that was possible, and this time he rushed out of the station with no more delays.

"I'm becoming quite obsessed with him. But perhaps… is he becoming obsessed with me, too? No, that's preposterous." But even as Arthur said this, he felt a warm feeling sneak its way into his chest.


	8. The Showdown

Welcome one and all to the climax chapter! After this is only one more, though I may end up doing an epilogue. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 8: The Showdown**

Xiao Mei sat down in the interrogation room, across the table from Alfred and Arthur. She was indeed still with her boyfriend, who was also still connected to the clever thugs. Time for some answers, and hopefully, some new prisoners.

"Thank you for coming in, Miss. Now to start our questions…how much do they know?" Arthur asked, pen in hand and paper on the table, ready to scribble notes as necessary. Xiao Mei sighed loudly, she knew this would come eventually. As much as she feared the possible consequences of talking to the police, she was sick and tired of her and her boyfriend being dragged into the wrongdoers' plots.

"A lot. They know the perfect location that'll be outside of your radar. They know how many men they need to outnumber your New York forces. They know now that Freedom Phantom was caught, and are hoping that letter they sent was enough to confuse you guys. They know all about Detective Kirkland's past, something about London, they said?" Arthur and Alfred looked at each other in stunned amazement.

"What are they planning on doing?" Alfred asked slowly, the news still a shock.

"I don't know. But it's tonight, and it's something big. They're using that warehouse/office building a few blocks down, probably because there are a lot of influential businessmen working there. I bet it also has other perks that they're planning on exploiting. They're both nasty and their whole crew is vile," Xia Mei explained, adding in her own commentary.

"Very well, I think that's all the information we needed. Thank you, Miss Xiao Mei. You are free to leave," Arthur addressed calmly. She nodded once before standing and leaving. Alfred and Arthur followed suit, but didn't get much farther than outside the interrogation room.

"I'm going with you," Alfred stated suddenly. Arthur paused a moment to be sure he heard Alfred correctly before he shook his head.

"Absolutely not. It's too dangerous for you," he replied firmly.

"I may not have police training, but I can still fight! I'm strong, agile, and I know proper techniques for saving my skin." Alfred asserted, hoping to persuade him.

"I don't care. I'm going alone," Arthur answered decisively.

"Arthur, they know about your past! You can't think for a _second_ they're not gonna use that against you!"

"I know. I'm prepared to face the consequences. But you're not going anywhere near there."

"No, I have to go!" Alfred cried.

"No, you're staying!" Arthur maintained, his temper growing by the second.

"NO! I'm going!" Alfred howled. And Arthur lost it. Couldn't the idiot see how likely it was he would get hurt? Arthur would never risk that, not for anything. Alfred's safety was his top priority!

"I **can't** let you get hurt!" Arthur screamed.

"And I can't let **YOU** get hurt!" Alfred shrieked.

Arthur stopped and looked at him, shocked and amazed. His words hung in the air, the bite still lingering, but the raw feelings reached Arthur. Alfred looked at him with narrowed eyes and determination.

"Now. We either go together, or we don't go at all."

"Fine. Together," Arthur affirmed quietly. "Let's notify the chief."

* * *

"Nein. I am not sending the two of you with the rest of my troops," the chief declared.

"But sir-" Arthur began.

"The two of you are a very unstable unit! You," he said, pointing to Arthur, "Have a secret they are trying to exploit! And you," he pointed to Alfred, "Aren't even a policeman!"

"Sir, I know, but we have to go. There's no way we're just staying here!" Arthur protested. Ludwig furrowed his eyebrows.

"Who said you were staying here?" Alfred and Arthur exchanged a puzzled look. Didn't the chief just say he wasn't letting them join the troops?

"Ah, ja, I suppose that is kind of confusing. You're not going in with the rest of the troops because I'm sending the two of you in to find the heads of the operation directly. Kirkland is my best agent, and Mr. Jones knows the most about them. Together, I think the two of you might be able to be the most effective." Ludwig explained.

"No way. That's freaking amazing! Thanks, Chief! We'll take care of those thugs. It's a hero's job to bring justice to villains," Alfred expressed. The chief pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ja, ja. Come, we have 3 hours to train you before the mission. And you're going to need every second of it."

* * *

Nighttime fell upon the city. As the darkness closed in, so did the feel of impending doom. Many businessmen were still inside, either with the complete ignorance of the heist, or, perhaps ever more likely by the instant, being held hostage. Eliza and Roderich were grouped with the other police members, leading the main expedition. They'd seen how this group of white masks worked. They station many guards outside of useless rooms on lower floors, just to throw the NYPD off course. Alfred and Arthur's mission was to head straight to the top floor and look for the least heavily guarded room.

"Are you ready?" Arthur whispered. Alfred nodded. He was equipped with an earpiece, which was connected to the earpieces of the other policemen. He also carried a handgun, and a bulletproof vest, as per standard police gear. He'd spend nearly two hours working on firing the gun, and he had improved his aim significantly, but he still felt most comfortable using his fists.

They snuck in easily. They climbed the stairs as quickly and quietly as they could, which was easier said than done. Eventually, they reached the top floor. As they looked around, however, they saw not a single guard anywhere. This was unsettling, as it meant there was no room that was less guarded, and the brutes could be anywhere.

After opening countless, fruitless doors, they finally found a large, tiled hallway where they could hear rushed whispers. They quietly followed the hallway into a large tiled room. But immediately upon seeing the rest of the room, Arthur froze. They were in a large shower room, which wasn't exactly a bathroom, but it was pretty darn close. Alfred could see his blackmailers, with their signature scarf and ponytail, from across the room, but he also saw two people lying on the floor. He squinted a little, and saw the face of Xiao Mei, passed out, gagged, and bound to a boy around her age, likely her boyfriend.

"Do you see them, Arthur? Arthur?" he glanced beside him to see the Brit absolutely frozen in his place, able to register nothing. He was once again in the place where he'd let lives slip through his fingers. Alfred clenched his fists in anger. What a dirty trick. So they must've known they'd send Arthur after them, and held their operation in a bathroom just so they could torture him.

As Alfred reached for his gun, he noticed something red and colorful attached to the two hostages. And it appeared to be a bomb. Alfred didn't know much about explosives, but if it had sticks of dynamite attached to a timer, that sure as heck looked like a bomb to him. What a rotten way to kill people, after Arthur already had to witness nearly the same thing. Alfred reached up to his earpiece and turned it on.

"Evacuate the building. They've got explosives," he hissed.

"Uh, hello? Who are you? Are you authorized to use these?" replied a voice. Alfred gritted his teeth in frustration. Now was not the time!

"Jones? Is that you?" Roderich asked. Alfred felt temporary relief wash over him.

"Edelstein! Yeah, it's me! Arthur's been immobilized, and they've got some kind of explosive up here. Looks like its set to go off in 10 minutes. You need to get everyone out of the building!" he cried.

Unfortunately, he must've said this part a little too loudly, because the two masked men turned around and spotted him.

"Crap," he muttered. "Gotta go." Alfred turned off his earpiece and positioned himself to face the two men head on. He placed a hand on his gun, but didn't draw it. He wasn't sure what sorts of tricks the two fiends had set up. To his surprise, however, they gently removed their masks.

"Privyet. I am Ivan Braginsky. It is nice to finally meeting you," said the tall one with a long scarf. He had a surprisingly childish face, but murderous nonetheless.

"Ni hao. I am Wang Yao. I'm so happy you came to the party," said the short one with the brown ponytail. In contrast to his partner, he had a very wise face. His actions, however, were anything but.

Alfred felt unspeakable disgust coarse through his veins. First they hurt Xiao Mei and Francis, and then indirectly hurt Matthew. Then they blackmail himself into doing all kinds of non-heroic villainy. And now they're recreating Arthur's worst fear, all in hopes of killing more innocent people. He looked down darkly, allowing his bangs to cast an ominous shadow across his face.

"This is a party, huh? Looks like you guys forgot drinks. Don't worry-" he brought one fist into his other hand, making an effective, intimidating sound, "I've brought plenty of punch for everyone!"

Alfred charged at the two men, yelling loudly in anger. Yao pulled out a pistol and fumbled with it, but Alfred was faster. He rushed and threw a right hook straight on his jaw. His left hand came in for an uppercut before his right doubled down into Yao's stomach. Yao reeled back in pain, but he was still standing. Alfred wound up his leg and released it onto Yao's stomach, effectively knocking him to the ground.

Alfred quickly turned to face Ivan, the fight now one on one. Alfred waited for Ivan's next move, but he simply sighed.

"Never give a gun to a martial artist," he commented sadly. He looked over at Alfred's enraged being and couldn't help a small, sadistic smile.

"You went for the little guy first, da? You thought he was more dangerous because he had a gun. But I will show you that this long cape is used for more than just keeping me warm." Alfred held up his hands defensively, waiting for some sort of melee weapon to be drawn, such as a bat or a pipe. But instead, Ivan pulled out his own gun. He pointed it not to Alfred, but to Arthur.

"Stay still or your friend goes boom," he threatened. Alfred stiffened, but dared not move a muscle. Ivan reached towards the bullet proof vest and slowly unzipped it. Alfred felt his heart beat faster and faster, but if he moved, Arthur would be dead. The vest was now fully off and on the floor, and Alfred felt bare, exposed, and unbelievably livid, hate and disgust burning in his eyes. Ivan smiled sadistically once more.

"Poka. Goodbye." He shot at Alfred's newly exposed chest, but Alfred moved just in time so it hit his stomach instead of his heart. He fell to the ground in agony.

Across the room, the gunshot snapped Arthur out of his trance. He watched as Alfred fell to the ground, clutching his side in pain. Something in him snapped, as anger boiled throughout his entire being.

"DON'T TOUCH HIIIIIIMMMM!" Arthur shrieked, charging straight at Ivan. He shot once at each of his legs, and crashed his shoulder straight into his chin. "Don't you dare! Don't you DARE!" he screamed, repeatedly slamming into the tall Russian man. Finally, Ivan joined the others on the ground, as unconscious as Yao and the hostages.

With the threats eliminated, Arthur panted heavily, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He knelt down to Alfred, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred. This is all my fault. If only I wasn't so incompetent!" Arthur wept. Alfred shook his head, panting heavily.

"No, no. You can't blame yourself. Those bastards used a dirty trick," Alfred pressed, panting often between his words.

"But even so, you got hurt because of me!"

"But I'm alive. No one's dead. Everyone's okay. We're all going to live," Alfred panted.

"I really am worthless, aren't I? A good-for-nothing, pathetic, blubbering coward who can't-" but Arthur's self-pity speech was interrupted by an earnest kiss on his lips. Alfred placed on hand on his cheek, keeping the other clutched at his side. Arthur jolted and blushed deeply, confused and delighted at the same time. Slowly, Alfred lowered himself back to the ground, but shill kept a hand lovingly on Arthur's cheek.

"You're not worthless. Don't ever say that. You're my hero," Alfred breathed, looking fondly into Arthur's green eyes. Alfred didn't officially right out say 'I'm in love with you,' but that is exactly what he meant. He loved every part of the grouchy policeman, and wouldn't change a thing.

Arthur sat in stunned silence, not sure if what he was hearing and feeling were correct. Did Alfred just…kiss him? As in, _kiss him_ , kiss him? Did that mean – no, it couldn't. There was no way Alfred would return his feelings, his admiration, adoration, and practical obsession with him. That would be ridiculous, impossible, and nonsensical.

"Okay, so I totally confessed to you right there. Can I get an answer?" Alfred asked with weighted, broken breaths. Arthur snapped out of his depressing thoughts, widened his eyes, and felt joyous tears well up. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and kissed him with all his might.

Alfred winced at the pain in his stomach, agitated by the sudden sign of affection. "Gently, gently," he muttered, and Arthur loosened his grip to support Alfred better before diving in for another kiss.

* * *

Arthur turned on his earpiece and called for backup. Soon after, the bomb was detonated, Xiao Mei and her boyfriend taken safely downstairs, and Ivan and Yao handcuffed to be sent straight into custody. Alfred was taken to an ambulance, where the bullet was removed and his skin patched up, bandage wrapped around his lower torso. Arthur came in and sat down next to him.

"How are you?" he asked, finally starting to calm down from all the chaos.

"Other than the hole in my side, this is the best day of my life! Seriously, the guy I'm in love with loves me back! What more could I ask for?" Alfred grinned wide and winked. Arthur felt a light blush dust his cheeks in return.

"You silly Yank. You're the only one who would prioritize physical attraction over physical injury," Arthur mused, leaning over his injured sweetheart. Alfred maintained his cheeky grin.

"Yeah, but you love me for it."

"I'm afraid so." Arthur leaned in for one more kiss, this time gentler, more tender. Not everything had been quite solved, but in each other's arms was the perfect place to start.


	9. The Partners

A thousand apologies for the late update! Check the Author's Note afterwards for more info. Please enjoy the final chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 9: The Partners**

Ivan and Yao sat in the two prison cells at the station, in the very ones that once held Alfred and Francis. Their faces no longer donned menacing white masks, and instead they donned the hideous orange jump suits. Yao stood pacing around the cell and fuming, while Ivan sat with a blank face.

Alfred waltzed into the room, a smug grin on his face. He stopped between the two cells and eyed the criminals, content at his and Arthur's handiwork.

"That's justice for ya, boys! How's it feel to be locked up by a hero?" he asked merrily. Yao turned towards him and began yelling at him angrily.

"It was for my country! It was all stupid Russian who drag me in!" He cried, pointing an arm towards the other cell. Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Who was the one who came to me begging for my help? You're lucky I needed the money, little Chinese."

"I needed money too! This is all because you had to import stupid purple vodka!"

"Who was it that couldn't shoot the gun correctly?" Ivan asked, a sickeningly sweet smile toying on his face.

"At least I did not bail at last second!" Yao spat.

"At least I actually did something. You were the one doing nothing but the standing."

"That is outrage! It is your fault we are here right now! I hate American jail!" Yao cried, beginning to knife-hand the walls to express his disgust. Alfred laughed at the silly criminals.

"Don't worry, ya commies! It'll do you good! Prison time was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. After all, it brought me closer to my boyfriend!" Alfred laughed again, finding the situation both humorous and slightly ironic. Ivan and Yao tried to look at each other through the bars, both in confusion at the crazy American. Suddenly, Ivan had an idea.

"Yes, you are making the sense. You are very clever American," Ivan assured falsely. Yao stared at him in confusion, but Alfred scratched his nose in confidence.

"Darn right I am! I'll be checking back in on you two criminals later. Right now, I've got some business to attend to." And with that, Alfred sauntered out of the cell wing, whistling a merry tune. Yao peered over at Ivan.

"Why did you compliment him?" Yao asked. Ivan grinned slowly.

"American is weak point. We make him happy, he may letting us out early."

"I don't think that's right…" Yao said, scrunching his eyebrows together.

"It is better than nothing, da?" Yao nodded thoughtfully.

"In that case, I have way of getting them fine product even from in here." Yao and Ivan smiled to themselves, thinking that they had a way of getting out easier if they secretly bought special things for the American. Which would turn out to be quite handy for Alfred, but would get the criminals no closer to freedom.

* * *

Alfred walked into the station lounge and took a seat on the couch next to Arthur. Matthew sat in an armchair across the coffee table, waiting for Francis' big, dramatic reveal in a new outfit. He always had been a drama king. Or, as Francis liked to call it, " _un artist professional"_. Matthew sighed quietly. He loved his boyfriend, but often wished that changing clothes didn't take so long.

When Francis emerged, however, Matthew was pleasantly stunned. Francis wore brown khakis and a classy light blue V-neck shirt. Francis winked at Matthew before striding over and planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose. Matthew smirked and stood up to give his boyfriend a proper kiss on the lips.

After a while, the two glanced over at Arthur and Alfred, as if trying to show that they were clearly the superior couple. Alfred stared in confusion for a while before he finally figured it out.

"Are they…challenging us?" Alfred asked slowly, wondering why Francis flipped out his middle finger towards them playfully.

"I believe they are. How about it, then? We're better at kissing, aren't we?" Arthur asked, turning towards Alfred with half-lidded eyes and a seductive smirk on his face. Alfred responded eagerly.

"Definitely. Watch, I'll prove it!" Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist and Arthur grabbed Alfred's shirt collar impatiently. They passed many kisses back and forth, on cheeks, noses, and necks. The competition was completely forgotten and all that mattered was the partner across from them.

Sometime later, Ludwig emerged from his office. "Jones, if you have a minute, I wanted to speak with you…" but his voice trailed as he saw the intense make-out sessions before him. Immediately he reddened and went to slink back into his office, but was halted by the sudden presence of the Italian chef. Ludwig didn't want to admit it, but he'd been harboring a crush on the chef for a long time, though he hid it well behind his constant yelling.

"Ve, Ludwig! I just finished making some pasta! Would you like to…" Feliciano also lost his words when he saw the two couples making out. Instead of becoming flustered like the chief, he was happy and confused.

"It's a kissing party! Why didn't anybody tell me?" he asked, before placing a small peck on Ludwig's mouth. Ludwig jerked in surprise and embarrassment, but found he quite liked when Feliciano gave him kisses. In a surge of courage, he returned with his own kiss, sloppy and uncertain. Feliciano smiled even wider.

Roderich, upon hearing Feliciano's exclamation of a kissing party, went down to the lounge skeptically to investigate. What he discovered surpassed his expectations. He found two _very_ vivacious couples and a happy, wobbly one. He smiled to himself, but then decided to give them some privacy. He sighed loudly in fake exasperation, "It's a _gay_ kissing party."

* * *

 **Three years later...**

Alfred and Arthur rushed onto the rooftop of an apartment building, chasing down a murder suspect. Said felon stood a few feet away, arms crossed and foot tapping the ground in impatience. Apparently she'd gotten bored waiting for the police to arrive, and played dully with a large knife in her hands.

"NYPD!" Alfred yelled, holding up his badge. He'd achieved it nearly six months ago, and loved showing it off, especially to criminals.

"Ugh. Finally you arrived. I was beginning to worrying I'd get away without anyone knowing my flawless escape," bragged the criminal, flipping her long silver hair over her shoulder. She had a slight Russian-ish accent and a large white bow on the top of her head. She was a diagnosed sociopath with a history of violence, but also a long background in explosives and wiring. Because of this, Arthur had promised he would not take on her case until Alfred was his official partner.

"Natalya Braginsky, you're under arrest for attempted murder and association with inmates!" Arthur declared before two policemen rushed forwards. Natalya held up a handheld detonator and pushed a large red button. Suddenly, the building began to collapse beneath their feet. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for impact with the sidewalk below.

As he opened his eyes, however, he found himself clinging to Alfred, who was supported by a loose building cable wrapped around his wrist.

"I dunno about you, but I sure wasn't expecting that," Alfred mused, swinging slightly from the momentum of the building's partial collapse. Arthur stared around him in disbelief.

"We are _hanging_ from a _cable_!" he cried incredulously.

"Well, wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've done," Alfred noted.

"I hardly see how that matters when we're suspended 4 stories in the air!"

"Don't worry, I'll get us out of this," Alfred assured. He was pretty sure he had an idea to get them down to the earth safely.

"How!? Hate to tell you, but you can't punch gravity!" Arthur reminded, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around his partner.

"I know! Jeez! Relax! Lemme just-" Alfred tugged a little on the cord, which jostled and dropped them down another two feet.

"Need I remind you of my fear of imminent death?"

"Could _really_ do without all the sarcasm!" Alfred stressed, swinging back and forth a little to loosen the cord more.

"Watch what you're- ah!" Arthur yelped as the cord dropped another few feet. Alfred chortled at his boyfriend's cry.

"Aw, you sounded so cute!" Alfred exclaimed, planting a small peck on Arthur's forehead. He reddened slightly and grumbled.

"I won't be cute when I'm splattered on the concrete below." At Arthur's words, the two policemen looked down to the sidewalk and saw their suspect strolling casually towards freedom.

"Blast! She's getting away!"

"Not for long. Hold on tight!" Alfred gave a mighty shake of his arm up the cord, plunging them down to a mere 10 feet above the ground. He gave one more shake, but this time when the cord loosened it snapped and sent them plummeting towards the ground. Upon impact, they both rolled, saving them from any permanent damage. They stood up and surveyed the area around them.

"She can't have gotten far. My guess is she's headed for the station."

"Got it. Where did we park the car?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, just run! _I'll_ get the car!" Alfred nodded and took off sprinting.

He arrived quickly, and saw Natalya sitting steadily on a station bench. He coolly strode over to her, one hand on his gun and the other on a pair of handcuffs.

"You know, you've already been convicted of association with inmates, and you're a murder suspect. I don't understand why you'd want to add destruction of public property to that list as well," Alfred commented casually. Natalya stood up abruptly in shock.

"You! How are you still alive! My bomb was supposed to make you dead!" she cried.

"Uh oh, I think that's a confession! Prison time's getting longer and longer," Alfred teased, pulling out his handcuffs to secure them on her wrists. But Natalya was faster. She pulled out her knife and deftly sliced Alfred's hand. The cut wasn't deep, but it sure as heck surprised him. He stumbled back and Natalya took that as her chance to escape. She pushed him aside and ran as fast as she could.

"Crap! She's getting away! Arthur, where ARE you!?" Alfred yelled, clutching his lightly bleeding hand. He chased her to the station parking lot, looking around frantically in hopes of finding a way to trap her.

Just as he was about to lose hope, a police car swerved in and cut off Natalya's escape route. Arthur quickly jumped out and held up his gun.

"Terribly sorry, miss, but I'm afraid I can't let you go that way. I'm here to escort you to prison," Arthur stated coolly. Alfred ran up behind Natalya, and used his uninjured hand to hold his gun too.

"Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!" Alfred exclaimed.

"I'm not late, am I?" Arthur asked teasingly.

"Nope! Right on time!"

"Excellent." Natalya dropped her knife to the ground and put her hands in the air in surrender. Arthur stepped forward and placed a pair of handcuffs on her wrists, and shoved her into the back of the car.

"Dude, you're the best boyfriend ever!" Alfred declared happily, walking over to his partner. Arthur smirked and snaked his arms around Alfred's neck.

"Naturally," he hummed, and gave Alfred a kiss.

* * *

Alfred walked in to Francis' bakery and was immediately overwhelmed by the delicious scents. He often stopped by while Arthur was writing their report, and today was no exception. Alfred found Matthew at a table by the window, munching on the last remnants of a Madeline. He quickly ran over and plopped down in the seat across from him.

"Dude, it was the coolest frickin thing ever! We arrived and totally had her cornered, but then she blew up the building! I, being the hero, lowered us down to safety, and then chased her to the station! Then we had a totally awesome battle, and Arthur came in and helped a little, but I was the hero and clobbered her! You should've been there!" Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes. Was it always necessary for Alfred to rattle off his stories of crime fighting? It wouldn't be so bad if they were true, but Alfred had a tendency to exaggerate greatly.

"What stories are you making up now, mon ami?" Alfred looked over and saw Francis, once again reunited with his favorite lacy apron and long, luscious hair tied back.

"I'm not making it up! It's true!" Alfred protested. Francis, like Matthew had earlier, rolled his eyes.

"I think that shiny new badge of yours has gone to your head," Matthew asserted. Alfred puffed his cheeks in annoyance.

"Aw, you guys are just jealous. We caught the last of Ivan and Yao's followers!" Francis and Matthew shared a look of pleasant surprise.

"Why, this calls for a celebration! Champagne and pastries for everyone!" the Frenchman exclaimed. Alfred laughed.

"Thanks, Francis. But I think we're gonna head home and go to bed. It's a little early, but we're both pretty worn out."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be going to bed. But will you be going to sleep is the question," Francis countered with a suggestive smirk. Matthew sighed.

"Francis, now isn't the time for-"

"Yeah, we'll probably go right to sleep. But we'll be nuzzled up together!" Alfred answered earnestly, completely missing Francis' hidden meaning.

"Ohon, nuzzling indeed."

"I think the two of you have very different definitions of 'nuzzling'," Matthew commented, and Francis winked at him slyly. Matthew stood and pressed a kiss to his husband's lips before heading to the front counter to assist a customer. Francis slung an arm around Alfred's shoulders.

"So tell me, Alfred. When are you planning on proposing?" he asked. Alfred reddened and jumped in surprise.

"Pr-proposing!?" he cried, a bit too loudly for the tiny bakery/cafe. Francis rolled his eyes again.

"Surely the thought has crossed your mind. After all, Mathieu and I have been married for almost three years. It's time the two of you get married!" Francis lifted his left hand and admired his ring. Alfred grabbed at his collar uncomfortably.

"I mean, yeah, I've thought about it. A lot, actually. I think about it all the time. But I just don't want to take things too fast." Francis gave him a disbelieving look.

"You've been dating each other for three years! There is no such thing as too fast at this point."

Alfred sighed loudly. "I guess, but… I'm only 22, and maybe it's still too soon for us. Maybe I should wait until we're older."

"Trust me, mon ami. In a world where gay men are so underappreciated, you need to grab a marriage while you've still got the chance," Francis stressed, exasperated. He chuckled a bit before giving Alfred his real advice.

"Age does not matter in love. Getting married is a decision between you and Arthur. There is no need to rush, but do not hold it off any longer than necessary. If both of you are ready, then there should be nothing holding you back!"

Alfred nodded, heavily swallowing the food for thought. But he didn't want to think about it too much. After all, today they'd finally captured the last of the White Mask group, and as soon as Arthur was finished writing the report, they would go home and spend a lovely evening together in their shared apartment.

And that's when Alfred realized. It didn't matter whether they were married or not. The important thing was that they were together and content. If they felt the need to get married, Alfred would buy a ring and propose. But until then, so long as they kept fighting crime and going on dates, it didn't really matter. He only wanted to be with Arthur. And as long as he was happy, Alfred was happy.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And that's it! Can you believe we're done? Thank you all so much for sticking with me this far, and I hope you've had as much fun reading as I've had writing! If there was any particular part that you absolutely loved, made you laugh, made you cry, please leave a review!

I'm planning more stories in the future, but I can't promise regular updates all the time. I'll do my best, but life has a funny way of bogging me down with school work and summer camps. If you'd like, you can follow me to stay updated (I'm planning a super awesome crossover with an older Disney movie, starring, of course, Alfred and Arthur).

Also, for news on the epilogue: It's mostly complete, but with the recent announcement of marriage equality across the US (Thank you and Congratulations!), the epilogue doesn't quite make sense. I'm considering whether I should finish and post it regardless, or re-write to fit the new events. Or if I should even post it at all! Let me know what you think, after all if no one wants an epilogue there's no point in making one.

And finally, I can't thank everyone enough. It's been a pleasure to come home and see my inbox filled with follows and favorites. These past weeks have been a blast, and thank you all so much for taking the time to read my first Hetalia story!


	10. Epilogue

Thanks to the support and positive feedback, the epilogue is here! Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey, and for sticking around these past few weeks. Certainly this is not the best story of all time, but I hope it's worthy of being added to your favorites library, or at least one you'd be willing to read again. This is the true end of The Freedom Phantom. One last time: enjoy!

* * *

 **Epilogue: The Proposal**

Alfred and Arthur sat across from each other on the balcony of Arthur's apartment. The night sky around them shined with stars, and a light breeze gently lifted their hair from their faces and stung their noses. It was a warm winter night, but a winter night nonetheless. The two sat bundled up in large coats and clutching mugs of coffee and tea. For the first time in nearly a month, the couple finally had some time to themselves to relax and enjoy the evening in each other's company.

Alfred looked from the view of the city, to the dark sky, and back to Arthur. He wasn't good at sensing the mood, and probably couldn't do it to save his life, but he was pretty sure that now would be as good a time as any. Arthur looked happy, after all, and the weather was nice. Maybe he'd have luck on his side.

Alfred took a deep breath of the icy air, feeling his heartbeat begin to race.

"Well, um, I'm not really sure how to put this…" Alfred began, shuffling a little in his seat. Pretty lame start, but the finish was all that mattered. Arthur looked over at him curiously.

"But, uh…Would you…Spend the rest of your life with me?" Alfred choked out. Arthur's eyes widened in shock and his heartbeat doubled. Was Alfred asking what he thought he was?

"As in, uh…Marriage?" He was! Arthur felt heat rise to his cold cheeks as his heartbeat tripled in speed. This was really happening! They would get married and spend their lives with each other, no more messes or complications. Arthur was about to give his reply, but was interrupted.

"I've got a ring and stuff…" Alfred mumbled, hoping that last bit would make it better. He was staring straight at his shoes in embarrassment and anxiety. How would Arthur respond? Would he feel things were going too fast? Had Alfred misread the situation and asked at an inappropriate time? Would their relationship be awkward now?

Arthur looked over at his American boyfriend, face on fire, and eyes glued to the floor. The poor bloke was too nervous to even ask right, and honestly his attempt was rather pathetic. But he had still tried, rushed and awkward as it was. Arthur couldn't help but laugh.

"You call that a marriage proposal?" Arthur asked, still giggling. Alfred squeezed his hands between his knees and squirmed uncomfortably. He had screwed up, hadn't he?

Arthur stood up and shook his head, partially in disbelief, and partially in amusement. He began to walk away calmly.

"If you try coming up with something more creative next time," Arthur began as he passed, waving his hand in the air. At the door, he paused and looked over his shoulder, at the American who so nervously held on to his every word. They locked eyes for a moment, Alfred beginning to tear up. Arthur gave him a gentle smile.

"Then I'll probably say 'Yes.'"

* * *

Arthur and Alfred took their seats at the stadium, right in the front row. Whoever had gotten tickets for them had done an excellent job. Admittedly, Arthur was less than excited about going on a date to the Super Bowl, but when Alfred suggested it, he'd been so excited that Arthur just couldn't say no. He, in all honesty, detested the game. It wasn't anything like real football, and there was no strategy or tactics one could rely on during the game. But as he looked at Alfred's giddy grin, he found himself smiling along with him.

It had been almost a month since Alfred's attempt at a proposal. Every day since then Arthur had been a little on edge, wondering when he was going to pop the question again, and what sort of method Alfred had deemed as 'creative'. It was about two weeks in when Arthur thought he might just ask himself, but that would ruin whatever Alfred did have planned. He decided to wait, even if it was painstaking.

They chatted for a while as the field was getting prepped and cleaned for the opening ceremony. Alfred ordered a few concessions, none of which were what Arthur could call appetizing. Every time he felt like it was too much and he just wanted to go home, he glanced over at Alfred. His lopsided grin and rosy cheeks allowed Arthur to forget that he was at an oversized sports-stadium and focus on the fact that his date was happy.

After a while, Alfred suddenly stopped and pulled out two microphones from his bag.

"Here, this one's for you," he said, handing it to Arthur. "You're gonna need it in a little bit here."

"Really? For what?" Arthur asked, turning the microphone over in his hands inquisitively. Alfred grinned wide and winked at his partner.

"You'll see!"

"Honestly, why can't you just tell me?" Arthur asked, looking at Alfred expectantly.

"Trust me, okay? Remember to give the audience a good show! But, above all, I'd like you to be honest." And with that, Alfred stood up from his seat and walked away. Arthur sat in confusion for a few minutes, wondering what in the world his boyfriend was up to. Why on earth would he bring a pair of microphones to an American Football game?

After waiting for several long minutes, Arthur saw his partner out on the field, right along with the opening acts. He had absolutely no idea what that idiot was up to, but he feared for the worst. What had he meant by 'give the audience a good show'?

Alfred stepped out to the center of the field, with a collective hush from the crowd. They'd never seen this strange person before. Why was he in the intro to the Super Bowl? Was he going to take long? The most important game of the season was going to start, and many were hoping for the mysterious person to be done ASAP.

"Good afternoon, everyone! I know there's a big game today, so I'll try and keep this brief. You see, I have a question I need to ask a very important person in my life," Alfred spoke into his microphone. Arthur was equally confused as the rest of the audience, and was honestly expecting this to be an elaborate joke. As this thought entered his mind, however, he couldn't shake the rising excitement in his chest.

"Arthur Kirkland," Alfred began, a gentle smile on his face. "Will you marry me?"

The crowd responded immediately. Some in joy and excitement, others in anxiety. Arthur blushed a deep red. _That wanker_ , he sighed. Arthur got up from his seat and marched right onto the field. He turned on his own microphone, to 'give the audience a good show'.

"You idiot! When I said a more creative proposal, I did not mean _this_! Do you have any idea where we are right now!? Do you know how many people are watching this!? Probably half the bloody country! Do you hear me, Alfred F. Jones? Half your bloody country!" Arthur shouted as he stomped closer to Alfred, careful to keep the microphone far enough away that he wouldn't blast out the people listening in the stands.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Oh, no you don't! You're not going to sweet-talk your way out of this! Is this your idea of romantic, you git? You just _had_ to let everyone know, didn't you? You couldn't have asked at a fancy restaurant or a nice quiet park? Do you realize what you've done!?" Arthur's babbling had lasted until he was standing right in front of Alfred. He could sense the unease in the crowd, but, knowing his boyfriend, Alfred probably couldn't.

"What? You don't like it?" Alfred asked innocently. Many audience members audibly groaned or smacked their palms against their foreheads. They were certain that Arthur would turn him down now. At this thought, Arthur smirked. He was going to do something to surprise everyone.

"Kiss me, you idiot." Alfred happily obliged, both arms wrapping firmly around Arthur's waist. As Arthur grabbed ahold of Alfred's hair, the crowd went wild. Many stood up from their seats, popcorn and soda flying everywhere. Some were in utter disgust, thinking their display a sin against God. Others were in complete shock, having no idea whether they were okay with what had just transpired or not. And the remaining audience members cheered the couple on with all their might.

Alfred and Arthur continued a few more moments in each other's arms before they finally broke the kiss. They waited for the audience to calm down a bit before Alfred spoke.

"I guess I can give you this, then," Alfred said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small black box that could only contain a ring. Sure enough, he opened the box and placed it on Arthur's left ring finger. The couple shared one more kiss, although this one was shorter, more tender.

They looked out into the audience, probably not a single calm person in the lot. They looked over at the cameras, and indirectly to all the families and friends across America watching them right now. They both knew how controversial this was, but in the moment they didn't really care.

"I expect we ought to let these people watch their game, then?" Arthur asked, looking over at his new fiancée.

"Yes, we should."

"Well, then, everyone, enjoy the biggest American football game of the year!" Arthur exclaimed happily, taking Alfred's hand in his own.

"Dude, it's just 'football,'" Alfred corrected as they began to walk off the field.

"No it isn't, love," Arthur replied teasingly. The two policemen turned off their microphones and walked back to their seats together, arm in arm.

Arthur thought back to everything they'd been through together. From taking out the leaders of the White Mask group and their first kiss, to the wondrous night where Alfred kissed him on the cheek, to his recounting the sins of his past, to the interrogation, to the first time Arthur realized Alfred as a person and not a criminal, and even to their shaky, odd first meeting three and a half years ago. Arthur wasn't sure if he believed in love at first sight, but he believed in the love he felt right here, right now. He believed in Alfred, and he believed in their lives together.

 **THE END**


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